a  I B  RARY 

OF   THE 
UNIVERSITY 
Of    ILLINOIS 

189- 


MISJUDGED 


BY 

W.    HEIMBURG. 


TRANSLATED    BY    MRS.  J.   W.    DAVK 


CHICAGO: 

M.  A.  DoNOHUE  &  ca 

407-429  Dearborn  St. 


CDrrxBJi 
\63- 


MISJUDGED. 


CHAPTER  I. 

"  Akd  now,  my  dear  fellow,  since  I  have  expressed 
m  two  closely-written  pages  my  delight  at  hearing 
from  you  again  after  a  silence  of  five  years,  I  will 
proceed  to  answer  all  your  questions.  But  I  must 
say  once  more  that  you  cannot  imagine  what  a 
pleasure  your  letter  gave  me— though  I  have  already 
enlarged  on  that. 

"  In  the  first  place,  you  ask :  *  What  have  you 
been  doing  with  yourself  ? '  My  dear  Wolf,  I  have 
entered  on  a  new  life,  just  as  you  have  done 
— whether  a  better  one  or  not,  you  shall  be  the 
judge. 

"  When  we  had  shaken  hands  for  the  last  time  in 
Berlin,  as  you  seated  yourself  in  the  third-class  car-^ 
riage  of  the  Hamburg  train  which  was  to  carry  you 
to  the  Brazilian  steamer,  I  was  left  standing  there  for 
a  long  time  after  the  train  had  disappeared,  feeling 
that  I  should  have  done  better  to  go  too,  for  there 
seemed  nothing  left  for  me  in  my  own  country. 

"  You  know  how  it  was^not  a  penny  did  I  possess, 
or,  at  any  rate,  very  little  ;  my  pictures  were  unsold, 
and  my  father  had  just  iaformted  me  that  he*could  not 


I  I  795 ! 6 


Misjudged. 


give  me  any  more  assistance,  for  the  simple  reason 
that  he  was  nearly  at  the  point  of  starvation  himself, 
with  his  wife  and  daughter,  since  he  had  been  pen- 
sioned off. 

"  And  why  did  I  not  go  with  you  ?  I  do  not  know 
myself,  now.  But  the  fact  is  I  stayed  behind,  and 
the  next  day  I  set  up  my  easel  in  the  Harz,  with  all 
my  worldly  goods — that  is,  with  a  few  thalers  a  friend 
had  lent  me,  Andreas,  you  know.  You  know  that 
lonely  forest-house  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  Brock- 
en  ;  you  know  the  low  room  over  the  kitchen,  and 
the  red-haired  young  forester's  wife  with  the  daz- 
zling white  skin  and  the  strange,  reddish-brown  eyes, 
a  beautiful  woman.  Do  you  remember  how  that 
whimsical  fellow,  the  forester,  told  us  one  stormy 
night  that  she  was  a  witch  who  had  slipped  through 
the  key-hole,  the  previous  April,  just  at  midnight, 
into  his  lonely  kitchen  ;  that  she  had  lost  her  bal- 
ance as  she  was  riding  on  her  broom-stick  high  up 
in  the  air,  and  so  she  had  got  a  good  husband  by  it  ? 
I  can  hear  her  laugh  now  as  she  listened  to  him — 
and  she  was  really  a  witch.  Well,  I  meant  to  paint 
there,  as  I  had  done  so  often  before,  and  wait  on 
destiny  ;  I  must  sell  a  picture  some  time  in  Munich 
or  Berlin. 

"  I  will  spare  you  the  details  of  that  time.  I  went 
there  in  June,  and  autumn  found  me  still  there — 
and  still  without  money.  I  did  not  care  to  follow 
my  father's  advice  to  become  a  decorative  or  scene 
painter,  and  one  day  I  found  myself  wandering 
restlessly  through  the  woods,  in  a  frame  of  mind 
which  I  cannot  describe  to  yqu.  I  had  borrowed  a 
gun  of  the  forester,  and,  when  I  came  to  what  1 


Misjudged, 


thought  was  a  very  lonely  spot,  I  put  it  against  my 
breast  and  pulled  the  trigger.  I  shot  myself — not 
dead,  as  I  had  hoped,  but  badly  enough  to  make 
me  ill  for  a  long  time. 

"  Then,  of  course,  comes  the  old  story  of  uncon- 
sciousness, of  waking  to  life  in  a  comfortable  room, 
with  a  beautiful  nurse  sitting  by  the  bed-side,  with 
whom  one  "falls  in  love  straightway,  and  ends  by 
marrying.  And  it  all  happened  in  the  usual  way, 
except  for  the  falling  in  love.  When,  after  my  long 
illness,  I  went  down  into  the  garden  of  the  iron 
manufacturer  Frey — it  was  April  then — I  asked 
Fraulein  Anna  Frey,  or  "Antje,"  as  she  was  called 
— her  mother  is  Dutch  by  birth — if  she  would  marry 
a  poor  fellow  like  me,  and  she  accepted  me  without 
a  moment's  hesitation.  What  induced  her  to  do  it 
I  have  never  been  able  to  understand  to  this 
day. 

"  Heaven  knows  that  at  that  time  I  was  not  a  very 
eligible  parti.  I  never  spoke  a  word  of  love  to  her, 
and  yet  she  said  yes,  notwithstanding  the  fact  that 
both  her  parents  wore  very  long  faces  when  they 
learned  their  daughter's  choice. 

"  We  were  just  married,  were  still  absent  on  our 
wedding  journey,  when  her  father  died.  She  would 
rather  have  stayed  with  her  mother  then,  at  the  iron- 
works, where  the  hammers  were  going  day  and  night. 
She  said  her  mother  would  be  glad  to  build  us  a 
pleasant  villa  in  the  midst  of  the  wood,  from  which 
Antje  could  reach  her  father's  house  in  four  or  five 
minutes.  Of  course  I  objected — the  very  thought 
of  this  mother-in-law's  idyl  made  me  shiver  ;  and  so 
she  left  her  stately  mother  alone  in  her  home,  for 


Misjudged, 


the  latter  had  grasped  the  reins  of  the  great  busi- 
ness immediately  after  her  husband's  death,  and 
managed  it  as  skilfully  and  as  firmly  as  he  had 
done.  But  Antje  went  away  with  me  to  make  a 
new  home. 

"  We  settled  down  here  in  the  immediate  neighbor- 
hood of  Dresden.  We  have  a  stately  old  house  at 
the  foot  of  the  vine-covered  hills,  though  we  are  still 
high  above  the  valley  of  the  Elbe,  in  the  midst  of 
a  great,  park-like  garden.  Augustus  the  Strong  built 
it,  as  a  gift  to  one  of  the  ladies  to  whom  he  was  at- 
tached. It  is  called  "  Sibyllenburg."  In  the  uppel 
hall — which  was  the  chief  inducement  to  us  to  buy 
this  place — I  have  fitted  up  a  studio  which  might 
satisfy  the  most  fastidious  artist.  It  extends  the 
whole  length  of  the  house,  and  is  divided  in  two  by 
a  great  ^vaymz.  portiere  My  easel  is  placed  in  the 
north  window  ;  before  the  open  balcony  door,  on 
the  south,  is  my  writing-table,  and  whenever  I  lift 
my  eyes  I  can  look  out  over  the  terraced  foreground, 
over  country-houses,  villages,  and  green  fields  across 
to  the  mountains  on  the  other  side  of  the  Elbe  ;  on 
the  right,  to  the  point  where  the  Albrechtsburg 
towers  over  Meissen  ;  on  the  left  to  the  towers  of 
Dresden.  If  I  wish  to  go  the  city,  I  have  the  car- 
riage out,  or  take  one  of  the  express  trains  which 
have  to  stop  in  the  village  because  the  connec- 
tions  

*'  But,  upon  my  word,  I  am  forgetting  your  chief 
question — yes,  it  is  underlined  in  your  letter  :  *  Above 
all,  tell  me  about  your  wife.* 

**  Old  fellow,  how  shall  I  manage  it  without  bor- 
ing you  ?    You  ask :  *  Is  she  one  of  those  slender, 


Misjudged. 


capricious,  fanciful  women  you  used  to  admire  so 
much  when  we  were  in  Berlin  ? ' 

"  No,  Wolf,  no  !  She  is  not  a  brunette  ;  she  is  a 
blonde,  with  the  hair  that  Titian  lived  to  paint.  She 
is  tall,  but — *  swaying  in  the  breeze  like  a  palm  *  \ 
Oh,  no  !  Rather  like  a  strong  young  beech  in  hei 
native  woods.  She  would  be  called  without  flattery 
a  handsome,  stately  woman.  She  has  a  dainty 
round  head,  a  full  face,  with  a  short,  straight  nose, 
red  lips  which  she  often  forgets  to  shut,  and  which 
thus  give  her  an  expression  of  childish  wonder,  and 
a  pair  of  clear,  greenish -brown  eyes — *  Nixie's  eyes,' 
people  call  them.  When  shaded  by  the  long,  dark 
lashes  which  curve  upward,  they  look  as  if  there 
were  unfathomable  depths  in  them.  But,  Wolf,  you 
are  my  oldest  and  best  friend  ;  to  you  I  will  say 
that  these  unfathomable  depths  are  a  delusion — it 
is  only  shallow  water.     .     .     . 

"  I  have  been  wondering  for  some  time  how  I  shall 
get  it  off  my  pen — of  force  of  character  and  intel- 
lect, Wolf,  there  is  not  the  slightest  vestige.  Un* 
fortunately  I  am  forced  to  acknowledge  that — she  is 
an  utter  nonentity. 

"  I  will  give  you  an  instance  of  it.  On  our  wed- 
ding journey  we  went  to  Haarlem,  her  mother's  birth- 
place. Antje  was  radiant  at  having  found  out  by  the 
description  the  gabled  old  house  in  the  market-place 
in  which  the  worthy  lady  first  saw  the  light  of  day. 
She  wanted  to  go  straight  in  and  ask  the  good  people 
who  were  eating  their  dinner,  to  let  her  go  through 
all  the  rooms.  I  was  obliged  to  use  all  my  powers 
of  persuasion  to  get  her  away,  and  at  last  I  said : 
'  Come,  child,  I  am  aching  to  get  to  Franz  Hals  * 


Misjudged* 


She  looked  at  me  with  wide-open  mouth.  *  Franz 
Hals  ? '  sK^  said  at  length.  *  Who  is  he  ?  Where 
does  he  live  ?  I  did  not  know  you  knew  anybody 
here,  Leo.* 

"  I  canno\  tell  you  what  I  felt  at  that  moment, 
Wolf  !  I  said  to  myself  :  *  And  this  is  an  artisf  s 
wife — my  wife ! '  I  believe  I  was  angry.  I  told  her 
she  ought  to  bw  ashamed  of  her  ignorance ;  I  said  I 
could  not  comprehend  how  it  was  possible  that  she 
had  never  heard  the  name  of  one  of  the  most  cele- 
brated of  the  Duteh  painters,  she  who  had  Dutch 
blood  in  her  veins  *  She  followed  me  in  abashed 
silence,  and  dutifully  stood  with  me  before  those 
wonderful  pictures,  without  saying  a  word,  only 
afterward  she  asked  mw  shyly  if  those  pictures  were 
really  so  beautiful. 

"  Good  Heavens,  Wolf,  I  was  quite  crushed ! 
And  so  it  is  in  everything.  I  talk  to  her  at  dinner, 
for  instance ;  she  raises  those  unfathomable  eyes 
to  me  and  inquires  :  *  What  did  you  say,  Leo  ?  *  I 
repeat  my  sentence.  **ndeed  ?  I  don't  know,  I  am 
sure.'  Or  she  says  siniply  :  *  Ah  ! '  Or,  worse  still, 
she  tries  to  enter  int<y  the  conversation.  Then  she 
gets  red  and  stammrrs,  gets  confused,  and  at  length 
in  despair  urges  mc  to  try  some  dish  that  is  really 
excellent,  for  she  is  absolute  mistress  of  the  art  of 
cooking  and  of  housekeeping,  my  friend. 

"  I  can  hear  you  say  :  *  That  is  something,  at  all 
events,  and  something  very  desirable.'  But  I 
require  more  from  my  companion  for  life.  She 
ought  to  understand  my  profession  and  its  needs ; 
and  yet,  as  you  can  easily  perceive,  it  is  impossible 
to  talk  with  her  about  art.     The  poor  child  is  really 


Misjudged.  \ 


color-blind ;  she  mixes  up  Van  Eyck  with  Van 
Dyck,  and  talks  of  varnishing  oil-paintings,  I  get 
irritated  and  make  myself  disagreeable,  and  she  cries 
and  leaves  the  room,  and  we  finally  make  it  up  over 
the  cradle  of  our  little  daughter,  who  looks  up  at 
me  with  precisely  the  same  eyes,  opens  her  mouth 
in  just  the  same  way,  and,  unhappily,  seems  to 
be  constructed  on  the  same  simple  system  as  her 
mamma. 

"  As  I  said  before,  she  cries  after  these  scenes — 
but  she  cries  after  a  fashion  of  her  own.  She  shuts 
her  mouth  then,  her  lips  are  drawn  down  at  the 
corners  and  begin  to  quiver,  and  suddenly  two  big 
drops  hang  on  her  long,  curved  lashes  ;  you  cannot 
help  wondering  how  they  got  there.  Not  a  feature 
of  her  face  changes  ;  she  does  not  wring  her  hands 
as  other  people  do ;  she  does  not  sob  aloud  ;  her 
handkerchief  is  not  wringing  wet ;  she  does  not 
stamp  her  foot,  or  throw  herself  into  a  chair,  nor 
does  she  knock  the  vases  off  the  table — she  keeps 
as  still  as  a  mouse.  The  servants  never  know  there 
has  been  a  quarrel,  but — good  Heavens,  I  think  I 
could  stand  almost  anything  else  ! 

"  In  fact,  Wolf,  I  married  her  in  haste  to  save  my- 
self from  ruin,  and  I  am  her  debtor  in  every  way. 
I  do  not  deny  that  she  has  good  qualities,  and  yet 
— it  is  hard. 

"  You  ask  me  whether  I  am  still  a  painter.  Yes. 
And  whether  I  am  happy.  That  is  hard  to  say.  I 
feel  sure  I  should  have  made  my  way  had  not 
my  wife — but  I  will  tell  you  about  it.  I  know 
very  well,  Wolf,  you  never  liked  to  hear  of  my  pro- 
fession.    You  said  some  harsh  things  to  me  once 


Misjudged. 


in  a  bitter  hour,  that  almost  broke  the  bonds  of 
friendship  between  us ;  you  declared  I  should 
never  get  beyond  a  certain  dilletanteism  ;  that  I 
ought  only  to  employ  my  talent  as  a  recreation 
while  devoting  myself  to  some  solid  career  by  which 
I  could  earn  my  bread.  I  remember  it  distinctly, 
and  I  have  thought  of  it  a  hundred  times  when  I 
have  made  my  failures.  But  I  cannot  yet  bring 
myself  to  believe  it,  and  so  I  still  go  on  painting. 
Once  I  had  a  stroke  of  luck.  I  sold  the  picture  of 
the  red-haired  woodland  beauty,  under  the  title, 
*  A  Witch  of  the  Brocken,'  and  had  the  pleasure  of 
hearing  it  well  spoken  of.  But  since  then  .?  I  have 
kept  on  painting  as  I  did  before.  I  painted  genre 
pictures,  and  I  painted  landscapes,  but  no  one 
would  buy  my  poor  things.  No  one  noticed  them, 
no  one  even  found  fault  with  them.  In  the  exhibi- 
tions they  were  always  hung  in  the  worst  places, 
either  in  the  darkest  corner  or  in  a  totally  bad 
light,  and  they  always  returned  with  touching  devo- 
tion to  the  arms  of  their  creator.  Happily,  there  is 
still  plenty  of  room  in  our  big  house,  and  if  in  the 
course  of  years  that  gets  filled  up,  I  can  always  fit 
you  out  with  painted  canvases,  for — but  just  let  me 
tell  you. 

"  When  our  little  girl  was  about  three  months  old  I 
tvent  one  day  into  my  mother-in-law's  sitting-room. 
We  did  not  have  any  home  of  our  own  then.  We 
had  bought  this  place,  but  it  was  not  furnished,  and 
I  stayed  in  the  quiet  woodland  valley  for  the  sake 
of  my  wife  and  child.  Well,  then,  I  went  into 
my  mother-in-law's  sitting-room  and  stopped  sud- 
denly, charmed  by  the  picture  before  me.     Thanks 


Misjudged. 


to  the  century-old  linden  trees  before  the  windows, 
there  was  a  genuine  Rembrandtesque  darkness  in 
the  room,  and  you  can  picture  to  yourself  an  an- 
tique arm-chair  in  the  midst  of  the  curious  old 
Dutch  furniture,  with  old  Faience  plates  and  black- 
ened family  portraits  on  the  walls.  Fancy  in  these 
surroundings  a  woman's  figure  bending  her  hear" 
over  the  child  in  her  arms.  A  single  golden  ray  a 
sunlight  just  rested  on  the  shimmering  hair,  a 
Raphael  has  painted  it  in  the  Sistine  Madonna.  It 
was  the  first  time.  Wolf,  that  I  was  charmed  and 
carried  away  by  my  wife.  *  Antje,'  I  said,  *  I 
must  paint  you  like  that.' 

"  She  raised  her  head  and  smiled  at  me  pleasantly, 
I  began  the  next  day.  It  was  a  beautiful  picture, 
Wolf.  Every  one  who  saw  it  said  so.  It  would 
have  made  a  sensation  at  the  Exhibition.  And  it 
was  a  perfect  likeness.  She  sat  in  the  curious  old 
arm-chair  in  her  white,  airy  morning-dress,  her  head 
bent  down  over  the  child,  and  the  sunshine  lighting 
up  her  golden  hair — not  a  Madonna,  though  sug- 
gesting one,  but  more  human,  more  touching,  ap- 
pealing more  to  the  heart. 

"  It  seems  absurd  to  you.  Wolf,  no  doubt,  that  I 
should  praise  my  own  work  like  this,  and  I  cannot 
even  prove  to  you  that  the  praise  was  deserved — 
for  the  picture  no  longer  exists.  When  I  was  having^ 
it  packed  up  to  send  it  to  the  Exhibition  in  Berlin, 
my  mother-in-law  declared  that  she  did  not  wish 
to  have  her  daughter  exhibited  like  that.  It  was 
improper,  it  was  immoral,  and  she  could  not  under- 
stand how  I  could  be  willing  to  expose  Antje  in  her 
morning-dress  to  so  many  strange  eyes. 


lo  Misjudged. 


"  I  stared  at  her,  quite  stupefied ;  then  Antje,  too. 
blushing  deeply,  begged  me  to  keep  the  picture  for 
myself.  She,  too,  seemed  to  consider  it  a  want  of 
delicacy  in  me  to  be  willing  to  exhibit  a  portrait  of 
her.  I  looked  from  the  original  to  the  picture  and 
began  to  explain  to  her  patiently  the  reasons  which 
prompted  me  to  exhibit  this  picture  of  all  others. 
She  listened  to  me  with  downcast  eyes,  and  when 
at  the  close  of  my  long  harangue  I  thought  I  had 
convinced  her  that  no  one  had  a  right  to  hide  away 
a  work  of  art,  that  it  was  her  duty  and  mine  to  take 
a  step  forward  in  the  world  by  means  of  this  really 
admirable  picture,  that  almost  all  the  great  painters 
had  painted  their  wives,  to  the  great  delight  of  their 
fellow-men,  she  only  shook  her  head  and  repeated 
for  the  hundredth  time  her  imploring,  *  Ah,  please 
don't  do  it,  Leo  ! ' 

"  Still,  I  did  not  give  up  the  battle,  but  after  three 
days  of  infinite  trouble  on  my  part  and  obstinate 
refusal  on  hers,  I  lost  patience  ;  I  got  angry,  and 
slit  the  canvas  up  and  down  with  a  sharp  knife, 
ordered  the  servant  to  make  up  a  fire  in  the  fire- 
place, and  burned  it  with  my  own  hand.  Antje 
stood  by  till  the  last  spark  had  died  out,  looking  as 
white  as  chalk,  and  then  she  left  the  room  without 
a  word.  But  /  suffered  more  from  the  whole  affair 
than  you  can  imagine. 

"  Since  then  I  have  given  my  wife  to  understand 
that  her  presence  in  my  studio  is  not  exactly  desired 
— and  she  understands  me.  She  has  never  entered 
the  room  since  she  helped  me  to  arrange  it.  What 
\s  there  here  to  interest  her  ? 

"  I  keep  on  painting.     Formerly  I  did  it  out  of  am- 


Misjudged.  11 


bition  and  hunger  ;  now  the  ambition  still  remains, 
but  it  is  dimmer  than  when  it  was  joined  to  neces- 
sity. I  look  about  for  something  to  arouse  my 
enthusiasm  and  I  find  nothing.  Just  now  I  have 
a  canvas  on  my  easel,  again  a  woman's  portrait.  I 
am  painting  a  neighbor  of  ours,  Baroness  Erlach,  an 
interesting  person,  a  widow  about  thirty-two.  When 
she  was  a  girl  of  eighteen  she  married  a  man  sixty- 
four,  who  died  in  the  course  of  nature,  when  she 
was  twenty-six.  Her  two  sons  are  at  the  Military 
School ;  for  herself,  when  she  is  not  here  in  her 
splendid  old  country-house,  she  is  everywhere  and 
nowhere — in  Paris,  London,  or  St.  Petersburg ; 
neither  the  North  Cape  nor  the  Pyramids  are  safe 
from  her.  She  knows  the  world  thoroughly  ;  she  is 
gay,  witty,  sometimes  with  a  spice  of  malice,  and 
has  the  exterior  of  a  woman  who  lives  more  by  can- 
dle-light than  in  the  sunshine.  Pale,  delicate,  and 
slender,  she  has  great  brown  eyes,  with  that  peculiar 
expression  sometimes  given  by  excessive  short-sight- 
edness, and,  which  is  often  most  effective,  that  soft, 
appealing  look  which  hardly  seems  to  accord  with 
the  rather  roguish  face.  I  am  painting  her  in  the 
rich  Spanish  costume  of  a  noble  lady  of  the  six- 
teenth century,  in  the  Stuart  cap  trimmed  with 
pearls,  the  high  lace  ruff,  and  in  a  red  velvet  dress 
open  at  the  throat.  She  comes  every  morning  at 
nine  o'clock,  and  generally  stays  to  dinner  with  us. 
Before  the  picture  vanishes  into  the  twilight  of  its 
destination — she  is  very  mysterious  about  the  name 
of  its  future  possessor — I  shall  exhibit  it  in  Dresden, 
that  is  to  say,  my  dear  Wolf,  if  I  ever  succeed  in 
/('nishing  it.     for  Antje — this  is  another  drawback 


12  Misjudged. 


— possesses,  among  many  other  delightful  qualities, 
the  Philistine  one  of  bitter  jealousy.  She  is  not 
fond  of  the  Baroness,  and  she  makes  it  manifest  to 
her  on  all  possible  occasions,  and  yesterday  she  put 
the  finishing  touch  to  her  icy  reserve  by  simply 
leaving  the  room,  during  dessert,  driven  away  by  a 
few  anecdotes  which  apparently  offended  her  sense 
of  propriety.  The  consequence  was  that  the  amia- 
ble original  of  the  Spanish  lady  soon  went  home, 
and  excused  herself  from  coming  to-day  on  the 
plea  of  nervous  headache,  which  is  a  very  good 
excuse,  but  which  shows  me  very  plainly  that  as 
a  married  man  I  must  suffer  for  my  wife's  rude- 
ness. 

"  This  is  the  way  matters  stand,  Wolf.  You  se2 1 
am  still  the  same  old  enthusiast,  who  shrinks  from 
sober  reality,  and  tries  in  vain  to  gild  it  ;  the  passion- 
ate man  with  his  too  strong  affections,  who  has  always 
had  the  misfortune,  when  he  was  ready  to  give  him- 
self entirely,  to  have  his  hopes  dashed  by  a  stream 
of  cold  water.  Wolf,  can  you  feel  with  me  what  it 
is  to  live  always  among  petty  natures  ? 

"  You  see,  I  know  that  she  is  an  excellent,  perfectly 
upright  woman  ;  she  does  not  know  the  meaning  of 
the  word  passion,  she  will  never  take  a  step  aside 
from  the  path  of  duty  or  of  honor.  But  neither  would 
she  ever  forgive  such  a  lapse  ;  and,  what  is  worse, 
would  never  understand  it.  We  are  like  fire  and 
water  together. 

'*  Come  soon.  I  will  come  to  Dresden  to  meet 
you. 

"  Your 

"  Leopold." 


Misjudged.  13 


The  writer  of  these  lines  folded  up  the  several 
sheets,  put  them  into  an  envelope,  addressed  it, 
sealed  it,  and  then  sat  leaning  back  in  his  arm- 
chair for  a  few  minutes  absolutely  motionless.  The 
autumn  sunshine  shed  a  warm  glow  into  the  ele- 
gant, richly-furnished  room,  lighting  up  the  pale 
colors  of  the  Smyrna  portilre  which  divided  the 
room,  and  the  carpet  which  covered  the  floor,  and 
rested  on  the  pictures  in  their  broad  gold  frames 
which  hung  behind  the  occupant's  back.  They 
were  for  the  most  part  landscapes,  but  there  were 
also  single  portraits,  studies,  all  painted  in  a  pe- 
culiar style.  Leo  Jussnitz  was  a  disciple  of  the 
modem  realistic  school ;  the  gnarled  oaks,  the 
clouds  in  the  stormy  sky,  the  harsh  light  on  the 
sea,  were  all  sketchily  flung  on  the  canvas,  though 
with  a  certain  force.  The  reeds  in  the  foreground 
almost  cast  a  shadow,  so  thickly  were  the  colors 
put  on.  It  could  not  be  denied  that  there  was 
character  in  these  landscapes,  but  the  amateurish' 
ness  was  also  not  to  be  denied. 

Leo  himself  looked  up  at  a  picture  placed  on  an 
easel  behind  the  low  writing-table.  It  was  the  por- 
trait of  a  woman,  life-size  ;  a  slender  figure  in  a  red 
velvet  dress,  leaning  against  a  pillar  and  looking 
out  at  the  spectator  with  languishing  biown  eyes. 
With  the  brown  hair,  the  languid  smile  on  the  lips, 
which  were  much  too  full  for  the  small  pale  face, 
it  was  like  one  of  Makart's  creations. 

A  satisfied  smile  crept  over  the  dark  face  of  the 
painter,  to  which  a  well-tended  moustache  lent  a 
mihtary  air.  He  got  up,  walked  across  to  the  north 
window,  and  stopped  before  the  easel  on  which  was 


Misjudged. 


placed  the  picture  of  the  beautiful  baroness.  There 
he  dipped  his  finger  into  a  shallow  glass  dish  filled 
with  water,  which  was  standing  on  the  table,  and 
drew  it  across  the  hair  which  peeped  out  from 
under  the  Stuart  cap.  The  golden  lights  in  the 
chestnut  waves  came  out  more  clearly,  and  an  ex- 
pression of  satisfaction  brightened  up  his  face.  He 
nodded  at  the  beautiful  woman's  face,  went  to  the 
window,  opened  it,  and  called  out :  "  The  carriage 
in  ten  minutes  !  " 

Then  he  disappeared  into  an  adjoining  room, 
and  in  a  few  minutes  had  changed  his  brown  velvet 
coat  for  an  elegant  walking  suit,  asked  the  servant 
if  his  mistress  was  in  her  room,  and  when  the  latter 
replied  that  he  thought  Frau  Jussnitz  was  down- 
stairs, a  frown  appeared  for  a  moment  on  his  fore- 
head, and  he  ordered  the  servant  to  say  that  he 
should  not  be  home  that  evening.  With  a  lighted 
cigar  between  his  fingers,  he  ran  down-stairs ;  he 
would  not  have  entered  the  housekeeper's  rooms 
at  any  price. 

A  young  woman  was  standing  in  the  hall  before 
an  enormous  antique  linen-press,  just  behind  the 
broad  staircase  ;  she  wore  a  plain  black  silk  dress, 
over  which  was  a  very  costly  fichu  of  beautiful  old 
lace,  caught  up  in  the  manner  of  those  Marie  An- 
toinette was  so  fond  of  wearing.  On  her  arm  she 
carried  a  key-basket,  and  her  hands  seemed  to 
be  wandering  aimlessly  among  the  linen,  for  she 
pushed  and  pulled  about  the  packages  arranged 
with  such  painstaking  care,  without  taking  any  out. 
A  pale  young  face  turned  toward  the  master  of 
the  house,  and  a  pair  of  wonderfully  clear,  greenish 


Misjudged,  15 


iyes  looked   up  at  him  with  a  glance  of  anxious 
inquiry. 

*'  Leo,"  she  called  out  to  him  in  a  low  voice — • 
**  Leo,  are  you  going  to  drive  ?  " 

He  turned  quickly. 

"  Yes,  as  you  can  see,  Antje,"  he  said,  with  the  air 
«)f  a  man  who  is  vexed  at  being  detained. 

The  pale  face  flushed  up  to  the  golden  hair. 

"  To-day,  Leo  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure  !  Or  do  you  want  me  for  any- 
thing ? "  The  voice  sounded  very  cold  and  very 
impatient. 

She  leaned  against  the  carved  press  and  twisted 
the  delicate  blue  ribbons,  which  tied  together  the 
dazzlingly  white  linen,  about  her  fingers  in  evident 
embarrassment.  The  pale  pink  of  her  cheeks  had 
deepened  to  a  crimson  flush. 

"  I  thought,  Leo,"  she  began,  but  was  checked 
by  the  glance  that  raet  hers. 

"  You  wanted  me  to  stay  at  home,  Antje  ?  Then 
you  should  hav^  said  so  before  and  I  would  have 
sent  a  t^legz^m.  Now  it  is  too  late  ;  they  are  ex- 
pecting me." 

"  They  expect  you,  Leo  ?  Oh,  that  is  another 
thing  !  "  she  said.  There  was  a  perceptible  change 
in  her  voice,  as  if  she  were  suffering  severe  pain. 
He  did  not  perceive  it,  e-'idently,  for  he  asked  : 

"  Have  you  any  comruissions  in  Dresden,  Ant- 
je? 

"  Nothing,  Leo " 

"  Then  good-by  !  " 

He  pressed  her  hand  for  a  moment  to  his  lips 
and  was  gone. 


1 6  Misjudged. 


"  This  confounded  indifference  !  "  he  murmured, 
as  he  got  into  the  carriage.  "  If  the  woman  would 
only  ask  for  something  once,  would  defy  me  once — 
but  this  everlasting  monotony  !  Even  her  way  o^ 
being  jealous  is  enough  to  bore  me  to  extinction 
The  clothes-press  and  the  kitchen  are  the  end  and 
aim  of  her  existence." 

As  he  drove  away  he  unconsciously  glanced  up 
at  a  window  in  the  first  story ;  a  child's  face  framed 
in  fair  hair  was  pressed  against  the  pane.  He 
threw  a  kiss  at  her,  but  the  child  did  not  stir,  and 
not  the  slightest  look  of  recognition  lighted  up  the 
soft  features. 

"  The  mother  all  over !  "  he  muttered,  as  he 
drove  away  into  the  reddening  autumn  evening. 
*•  The  mother  all  over  !  " 


CHAPTER   II. 

Frau  Antje  remained  standing  for  a  while  be- 
fore her  clothes-press,  trying  to  untie  a  knot  which 
she  had  made  as  she  played  with  the  ribbon,  but 
the  effort  seemed  entirely  mechanical,  for  when  a 
servant  passed  through  the  hall  to  the  dining-room 
she  gave  a  sudden  start,  hurriedly  arranged  the 
linen,  and  shut  up  the  press.  Then  she  went  down 
to  the  shining  kitchen,  where  the  old  cook,  who 
had  served  as  such  in  the  house  of  Antje's  father 
for  twenty  years,  was  standing  before  the  dazzlingly 
white  table  busily  setting  out  a  number  of  dishes  of 
cold  meat  and  other  appetizing  viands. 

"  You  need  not  go  on  with  it,  Classen,"  said  the 
young  wife.  "  Your  master  will  not  be  at  home 
this  evening ;  he  was  obliged  suddenly  to  go  to 
Dresden." 

The  withered  face  under  the  white  cap  stared  at 
her  mistress  with  an  expression  of  amazement,  as  if 
the  latter  had  just  announced  that  the  world  was 
coming  to  an  end  to-morrow,  or  something  similar. 
Antje  had  turned  away  in  the  meantime,  and  was 
looking  at  the  crackling  flames  on  the  hearth.  She 
did  not  reply  to  the  old  woman's  hurried  question : 
"  To-day — Ant — to-day,  Frau  Jussnitz  ?  Was  he 
obHged  to  go  away  to-de^y  of  all  days  ? " 


l8  Misjudged. 


"  I  shall  have  my  tea  as  usual,"  said  Antje. 

**  Very  well,  gracious  Frau — yes — but " 

"And  send  the  footman  over  to  the  Baroness, 
Classen,  to  say  that  I  am  very  sorry  we  cannot 
carry  out  our  little  surprise,  for  Herr  Jussnitz  was 
obliged  to  go  to  Dresden,  and  I — with  me  alone — I 
have  a  headache — Frau  von  Erlach  must  give  us 
the  pleasure  of  her  company  another  time.  Do 
you  understand,  Classen  ?  Or  had  I  better  write  it 
down  ? " 

She  put  her  hand  to  her  forehead  and  left  the 
kitchen  without  waiting  for  an  answer. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  understand,"  muttered  the  old 
woman,  following  her  with  her  eyes.  "  I  understand 
very  well.  Dearie  me !  And  it  is  just  four  years 
to-day  since  they  were  made  man  and  wife.  I  said 
so  then,  when  I  saw  him  looking  about  all  round 
the  church  when  he  went  to  the  altar  with  the 
child,  that  no  good  would  ever  come  of  it.  Why 
would  she  have  him  at  any  price,  when  she  might 
as  well  have  had  some  one  else  as  such  a — such 


She  made  a  furious  rattling  among  her  dishes,  and 
the  unflattering  epithet  she  applied  to  the  husband 
of  her  idolized  young  mistress  was  swallowed  up  in 
the  noise. 

"  He  didn't  have  a  penny  to  his  name  !  "  she 
went  on,  and  then  she  went  to  the  speaking-tube 
and  ordered  the  footman  to  carry  out  her  mistress's 
commands. 

In  the  meantime  the  young  wife  had  mounted  the 
broad  staircase  and  went  into  her  own  room  with  a 
bitter  smile.     He  had  never  before  failed  to  pay  her 


Misjudged,  i^ 


some  little  attention  on  this  day ;  was  he  so  embit- 
tered that  he  must  needs  punish  her  so  severely 
for  what  any  one  would  consider  she  had  a  perfect 
right  to  do  ?  Why  should  she  alone  have  no  likes 
and  dislikes  ?  Why  should  she  alone  not  be  allowed 
to  say  that  such  a  person  was  agreeable  to  her  and 
such  a  one  disagreeable  ?  Could  she  help  it  if  this 
Baroness  was  utterly  antipathetic  to  her,  though 
she  seemed  so  charming  to  Leo  ?  To  be  sure,  she 
might  have  kept  silence,  but  Leo  did  not  like  that 
either. 

She  sighed  and  went  to  the  window,  through 
which  the  last  pale  rays  of  the  setting  sun  were 
shining.  The  two  great  lindens,  whose  branches 
stood  out  sharply  against  the  pale  gold  of  the  even- 
ing sky,  had  scarcely  a  leaf  left  on  them.  The  wistful 
eyes  could  see  far  away  into  the  distance  through 
the  branches  ;  she  could  see  the  towers  of  Dresden 
gleaming  out  in  the  blue  twilight  sky  like  a  minia- 
ture picture  in  a  rococo  frame.  She  gazed  at  it  till 
the  bright  tears  came  into  her  eyes  and  the  round 
dome  of  the  Frauenkirche  swam  before  her  in  the 
rapidly  deepening  dusk.  She  passed  her  handker- 
chief over  her  eyes,  but  she  remained  standing 
motionless,  thinking  how,  four  years  ago  to-day  at 
this  very  hour,  she  had  been  driving  with  him 
through  the  autumn  woods,  with  such  a  deep  happi- 
ness in  her  heart,  looking  forward  to  a  wonderful 
future — as  she  thought ! 

If  she  could  only  be  different,  not  so  **  stupid," 
not  so  "  narrow-minded,"  as  Leo  had  called  her 
yesterday  in  his  blaze  of  anger.  But  she  felt  so  sure 
she  would  never  learn  that  comfortable   complai- 


20  Misjudged. 


sance  in  conversation,  never  understand  how  peo- 
ple could  manage  to  smile  at  things  like — well,  for 
instance,  like  that  story  which  the  Baroness  had 
told  yesterday  in  her  fine,  deep  contralto  voice,  and 
with  her  droll  manner,  a  story  of  a  married  couple 
who  had  been  faithless  to  each  other  for  years,  and 
at  last  had  agreed  in  the  friendliest  manner  to  get 
divorced,  and  who  never  met  in  the  street  now  since 
their  separation  without  exchanging  a  few  friendly 
words  and  asking  politely  after  each  other's  health. 
She  had  sat  by  listening  with  a  shocked  expression, 
and  she  could  not  comprehend  how  Leo  and  the 
Baroness  could  go  into  fits  of  laughter  over  the  fact 

that  this  couple  at  Count  L 's  last  ball  had  even 

eaten  a  philopena  top'ether,  and  had  related  to  each 
other  all  manner  ol  queer  things  about  their  present 
manner  of  life. 

Antje  felt  as  if  her  ideal  of  married  life  were  being 
dragged  through  the  mire,  and  she  had  sat  there 
grave  and  silent,  finding  it  impossible  to  speak. 
This  had  provoked  the  Baroness  into  relating  other 
stories,  which  grew  more  and  more  piquant,  and  at 
last  Antje  got  up  and  left  the  room  on  the  pretext  of 
looking  after  her  child.  Upstairs  she  had  sat  down 
by  the  bed,  and  angry  tears  rushed  to  her  eyes. 
Then  Leo  had  come  up,  and,  half-laughing,  half- 
angry,  had  said  :  "  You  don't  mean  to  stay  up  here  ? 
It  is  very  rude  to  leave  your  guest  like  this."  And 
when  he  saw  the  two  great  tears  on  her  lashes,  he 
cried  out  :  "  Of  course  you  can't  come  down  like 
that ;  but  it  is  incredible,  Antje,  how  ridiculous  you 
make  yourself,  simply  ridiculous  !  " 

"  It  is  very  possible,"  she  replied. 


Misjudged.  a» 


Then  he  went  away,  and  she  followed  him  to  the 
head  of  the  stairs,  but  he  did  not  look  round.  She 
could  hear  him  say  as  he  entered  the  dining-room  : 
"  I  am  sorry,  Baroness  ;  my  wife  wishes  to  be 
excused.  She  has  a  bad  headache."  Then  there 
was  a  drawling,  compassionate  "Ah!"  and  soon 
after  the  delicious,  contagious  laughter  of  the  beau- 
tiful woman.  Antje  had  stood  in  the  hall  till  the 
Baroness  went  away  ;  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  the 
walls  were  of  glass,  as  if  she  could  see  the  young 
Baroness  in  the  rocking-chair,  her  beautiful  head 
leaning  back  against  the  velvet  cushion,  her  cigar- 
ette between  the  red  lips,  and  when  she  laughed, 
that  row  of  brilliantly  white  teeth — Leo  thought 
her  mouth  so  wonderfully  beautiful.  When  she  was 
out  of  the  house  at  last,  a  deep  sigh  seemed  to  lift 
a  weight  off  Antje's  heart  that  she  had  never  felt 
before. 

She  had  waited  on  the  same  spot  for  her  hus- 
band, and  she  had  put  out  her  hand  to  him  ;  and 
when  they  were  in  their  room  she  had  said  :  "  Don't 
be  angry,  Leo  ;  we  were  always  very  merry  at  home, 
very  merry  indeed,  but  we  never  could  laugh  at 
that  sort  of  thing." 

"  Oh,  I  know  your  mother's  sort  of  wit  and 
humor  very  well,  my  dear,"  he  replied  with  a 
yawn. 

She  was  silenced,  for  she  loved  her  mother,  and 
Leo  knew  he  could  not  hurt  her  more  than  by  a 
slighting  remark  about  the  simple  old  lady  who  had 
spent  her  life  in  working  and  caring  for  her  husband 
and  child — notwithstanding  her  wealth.  But  during 
the  long,  sleepless  night  she  had  recalled  how  clev* 


22  Misjudged. 


erly  her  mother  had  known  how  to  manage  her 
father  and  to  put  up  with  or  overlook  disagreeable 
things,  which  had  perhaps  been  as  little  to  her 
mother's  taste  as  the  free  remarks  of  the  Baroness 
were  to  hers.  And  she  took  herself  seriously  to 
task,  telling  herself  that  she  had  married  an  artist, 
and  that  it  was  wrong  in  her  to  offend  a  beautiful 
woman  who  must  charm  the  eye  of  a  painter,  and 
that  even  if  she  listened  to  her  foolish  chatter  she  was 
in  no  danger  of  changing  her  principles ;  and  she 
made  up  her  mind  th^t  for  Leo's  sake  she  would 
put  up  with  it  for  the  future.  He  could  not  be 
painting  her  picture  forever,  and  when  the  picture 
was  finished  these  constant  visits  must  come  to  an 
end,  or  at  least  become  rarer.  She  had  fallen  asleep 
toward  morning  with  the  firm  resolution  to  make 
it  up  with  Leo  by  inviting  the  gay,  handsome 
woman  for  that  evening,  and  thus  prepare  for  him 
at  the  same  time  a  surprise  for  the  anniversary  of 
their  wedding-day. 

And  now  this  delightful  plan  was  all  upset.  Leo 
had  apparently  forgotten  that  there  had  ever  been 
a  seventeenth  of  October  on  which  he  had  led  to 
the  altar  a  young  and  happy  bride.  He  went 
straight  to  his  studio  after  breakfast,  without  no- 
ticing the  late  roses  which  stood  in  a  brown  majolica 
vase  on  the  table,  and  without  casting  a  glance  at 
his  little  daughter's  white  embroidered  dress. 

Antje  Jussnitz  felt  the  blood  rush  suddenly  to 
her  cheeks.  Thank  Heaven  that  she  had  not  put 
on  the  pale  pink  morning-dress  which  she  had 
secretly  prepared  for  this  day,  because  Leo  had 
said  once,  lately  :  "  My  wife  is  always  either  a  moth 


Misjudged.  *3 


or  a  bat ;  she  never  wears  anything  but  gray  or 
black."  And  Antje  wanted  to  please  him  !  She 
desired  it  as  passionately  as  only  a  wife  can  who 
loves  her  husband.  So  she  ordered  for  herself  a 
colored  morning-dress,  and  had  put  it  on  this  morn- 
ing, but  when  she  looked  in  the  glass  she  shrank 
before  the  image  that  was  reflected  there.  She 
could  not  help  seeing  that  she  was  beautiful,  but 
she  seemed  to  herself  absolutely  coquettish  in  the 
lace-trimmed  dress  with  the  long  train  and  the  little 
cap  with  pink  ribbons.  It  reminded  her  of  the 
morning  toilet  of  an  actress  in  some  modem  society 
piece.  She  felt  as  if  she  were  trying  to  flirt  with 
her  husband,  an  action  unworthy  of  a  wife  who 
knew  herself  to  be  beloved  without  all  this  finery. 
Thank  Heaven,  she  had  slipped  back  into  her 
simple  gray  dress,  otherwise  she  would  have  ielt 
horribly  ashamed  if  he  had  looked  at  her  in  sur- 
prise— and  to-day,  of  all  days,  when  he  had  forgot- 
ten what  day  it  was. 

She  suddenly  pressed  her  hand  against  her  eyes, 
for  she  felt  horribly  hurt ;  for  the  first  time  she 
had  experienced  an  actual  slight.  She  had  been 
accustomed  from  the  first  to  a  certain  Avant  of 
consideration,  for  even  as  a  lover  he  had  never 
been  at  her  feet.  She  did  not  know  what  it  was 
to  be  an  idolized  wife,  whose  wishes  her  husband 
reads  in  her  eyes  and  for  whose  slightest  whim  he 
will  sacrifice  time  and  money — nay,  more  than 
that,  his  own  comfort ;  whose  smiles  or  tears  will 
drive  him  to  commit  any  folly.  She  knew  noth- 
ing of  this,  and  she  did  not  miss  it.  She  knew 
no   married  life    except    that    of    her    father   and 


24  Misjudged. 


mother,  in  which  the  father  was  looked  up  to  as 
the  master,  whom  the  wife  waited  upon  and  obeyed. 
At  table  he  had  the  most  comfortable  place  and 
all  the  daintiest  morsels,  the  most  comfortable  cor- 
ner on  the  sofa  or  in  the  carriage,  "  If  you  wish  it, 
dear,"  were  the  words  Antje  was  most  accustomed 
to  hear  from  her  mother's  lips  ;  and  the  stately 
master  of  the  house  wrote  in  the  album  which  he 
presented  to  his  only  daughter  on  the  day  of  her 
confirmation,  Goethe's  words  :  "  Let  the  woman 
iearn  betimes  to  serve  according  to  her  destiny." 

Well,  Leo  evidently  had  different  ideas  ;  he  did 
not  understand  her  efforts  to  make  the  house  com- 
fortable for  him.  They  had  servants  who  made  the 
tea,  who  got  the  supper,  who  kept  the  house  in 
order.  Antje  did  not  know  what  there  was  for  her 
to  do,  and  she  looked  forward  with  joyful  expecta- 
tion to  the  birth  of  the  child  who  was  to  fill  up  her 
life.  When  it  was  born  in  her  mother's  house  she 
was  able  to  do  everything  for  it,  but  when  they  had 
moved  into  their  own  house  it  was  different ;  then 
it  seemed  as  if  Antje  only  had  a  very  costly  doll, 
which  she  was  allowed  to  play  with  sometimes  on 
Sundays.  Leo  thought  that  it  was  quite  the 
proper  thing  that  the  nurse  and  the  bonne  should 
take  care  of  the  child,  and  should  bring  it  to  its 
mother  every  day  in  the  most  charming  toilet,  like 
a  young  princess.  At  first  Antje  was  quite  incon- 
solable about  it,  but  Leo  had  frowned  upon  all  her 
entreaties,  her  mute,  imploring  looks,  as  utter  non- 
sense. Now  that  the  child  was  older  and  knew  its 
mother,  Antje  found  this  state  of  things  more  en- 
durable, though  she  still  clenched  her  fists  some- 


Misjudged.  25 


times  as  she  looked  on  and  watched  the  strange 
liands  bathing  the  little  rosy  limbs,  wrapping  them 
in  soft,  white  linen,  and  heard  strange  voices  sing- 
ing her  darling  to  sleep,     .     .     . 

The  young  wife  suddenly  brightened  up  and  ran 
out  of  the  room  into  the  nursery.  The  stout  nurse 
was  just  preparing  the  baby's  bath.  There  was  a 
smell  of  fine  soap  and  warm  water,  the  hanging- 
lamp  was  lighted  and  shed  its  rays  on  the  bright 
carpet  on  the  floor,  which  was  covered  with  all 
manner  of  toys,  and  on  which  sat  a  fair-haired  child 
of  three  years.  The  golden  curls  made  a  sort  of 
halo  round  the  delicate  little  face. 

"  Mousie  !  "  cried  the  young  wife,  gayly,  kneeling 
down  impulsively  before  the  little  one ;  "  little 
Mousie,  your  naughty  mamma  almost  missed  your 
bath  !  " 

And  she  pressed  her  tearful  eyes  against  the 
child's  hair  and  kissed  it  passionately. 

"  Dear  Christine,  please,  oh,  please  let  me  bathe 
my  little  Mousie  to-day  !  "  she  cried,  after  a  while. 

The  old  woman  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  mut- 
tered something. 

"  Mousie,  whom  will  you  have  to  bathe  you  1  " 
asked  Antje,  as  anxiously  as  if  the  happiness  of  her 
whole  life  rested  on  this  decision. 

"  Mamma,"  said  the  child, 

"  As  madame  pleases,"  said  Christine  in  reply. 
"  I  have  a  favor  to  ask  of  the  gracious  lady.  My 
Minna  was  carried  to  the  hospital  to-day,  and  I  am 
so  anxious  about  her  that  I  turn  everything  topsy- 
turvy. May  I  go  down  to  the  village  this  evening 
to  inquire  for  her  ?  " 


26  Misjudged. 


**  Why,  to  be  sure,  Christine  !  Go  at  once  and 
send  Classen  up  to  me." 

The  old  cook  came  with  a  frown  on  her  face,  and 
found  Frau  Antje  happy  and  smiling  as  she  bathed 
the  child,  who  laughed  and  splashed  in  the  water. 
But  she  was  not  deceived,  for  the  long  lashes  were 
still  wet  with  tears.  She  had  nursed  her  Antje  as. 
a  baby  and  had  known  her  through  all  the  years  of 
her  young  life,  as  no  one  else  but  a  mother  could 
know  her,  and,  going  up  to  the  tub,  she  said  in  a 
low  voice  :  "  It  is  not  worth  while  to  cry  about  it, 
gracious  Frau  ;  with  married  people  one  day  is  like 
another,  and  it  is  all  nonsense  to  mind  anniversa- 
ries." 

"  You  are  mistaken,  my  good  Classen  ;  the  baby 
has  splashed  the  water  in  my  eyes,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Oh,  yes,  so  I  see,"  murmured  the  old  woman,. 
"  it  is  the  water  from  the  tub. "  And  she  took  up 
the  hot-water  bottle  from  the  flannel  wrapper. 

And  while  Frau  Antje  dried  the  child,  she  said 
over  her  shoulder  :  "  Herr  Jussnitz  had  important 
business  m  Dresden,  Classen,  or  he  would  gladly 
have  stayed  at  home  with  Mousie  and  me — eh,, 
Mousie  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  to  be  sure ;  important  business,  that 
was  it,  of  course, "  replied  Frau  Classen  ;  "  and  I 
am  sorry  for  him  that  to-day,  of  all  days,  he — " 
The  rest  was  unintelligible,  for  she  was  already  out 
of  the  door  and  could  not  see  how  a  few  bright 
drops  fell  on  the  child's  little  forehead,  which  this 
time,  with  the  best  will  in  the  world,  could  not  be 
accounted  for  by  the  water  from  the  bath. 

Antje  remained  in  the  nursery  sitting  by  the  crib 


Misjudged.  27 


till  the  nurse  came  back.  Then  she  went  down 
into  the  dining-room,  which,  like  the  studio  above 
it,  extended  the  whole  length  of  the  house.  It 
had  been  made  to  resemble  an  old  German  ban- 
queting-hall,  with  the  addition  of  a  hundred  articles 
of  modern  luxury  which  gave  it  an  unusually  com- 
fortable lock.  The  lamplight  played  about  the 
silver  and  bronze  vessels  with  which  the  enormous 
buffet  was  adorned  ;  the  handsome  chairs,  covered 
Avith  leather  and  adorned  with  the  artist's  coat-of- 
arms  stamped  in  gold,  stood  in  a  row  round  the 
massive  dining-table  ;  the  ceiling  and  the  panels  on 
the  walls  were  magnificently  carved. 

In  front  of  the  fireplace,  near  the  crackling 
flames,  stood  a  table  set  for  two  persons — for  the 
servants  knew  that  their  master  always  liked  a  trifle, 
no  matter  how  late  he  came  in,  and  that  Frau 
Antje  usually  sat  by  him  while  he  ate.  On  it  was  a 
profusion  of  those  dainty  plates,  saucers,  shallow 
dishes,  and  little  spoons,  which  are  so  useless  and 
yet  so  charming.  And  in  the  centre  stood  the  roses, 
giving  an  air  of  festivity  to  the  cosey,  inviting  corner, 
as  if  saying  :    "  We  are  blooming  for  a  happy  pair." 

Antje  took  up  the  flowers  and  carried  them  to  a 
table  in  a  distant  comer  of  the  great  room,  and  then 
she  could  think  of  nothing  better  to  do  than  to  go 
to  the  window  and  gaze  out  in  the  direction  where 
a  clear  light  on  the  horizon  marked  out  the  great  city 
with  its  thousands  of  gas-lights.  The  tall  antique 
clock  in  the  room  swung  its  pendulum  untiringly, 
and  marked  off  quarter  after  quarter.  Antje  knew 
she  would  have  to  stand  here  a  long  time  waiting 
this  evening,  for  the  last  train  did  not  get  in  until 


28  Misjudged. 


nearly  twelve,  and  he  would  not  come  before.  She 
knew  very  well  the  sort  of  meetings  Leo  was  accus- 
tomed to  attend  and  how  long  they  lasted. 

It  had  grown  windy  outside.  Antje  wondered 
if  he  had  ordered  the  carriage  to  be  sent  to  the 
station.  And  that  carried  her  thoughts  back  to  a 
letter  she  had  received  from  her  mother  that  day. 
She  took  it  out  of  the  key-basket  that  she  had  set 
down  on  the  window-seat  in  front  of  her.  She  did 
not  need  to  read  it,  for  she  knew  every  word  of  it 
by  heart.  At  first  came  hearty  good  wishes  for  the 
anniversary  of  her  wedding-day,  with  a  hope  that 
it  might  be  with  the  daughter  as  it  had  been  with 
the  mother,  who  had  loved  her  husband  better  every 
year,  and  had  felt  more  and  more  how  great  a  sup- 
port and  comfort  he  was  to  her.  Then  she  recalled 
Antje's  wedding-day,  the  pastor's  sermon,  the  whim- 
sical toast  of  the  Bergrath,  the  torch-light  proces- 
sion of  the  workmen.  Antje  could  almost  see  her 
mother's  smile  as  she  said  :  "  Daughterje,  when  I 
was  married  it  was  merrier.  We  had  music  and 
dancing,  and  I  had  to  waltz  with  all  the  guests,  and 
they  were  not  few.  But,  to  be  sure,  wedding-jour- 
neys were  unknown  among  us  then." 

Finally,  there  was  a  postscript  :  "  You  know, 
Antje,  that  I  never  like  to  meddle  in  your  affairs, 
but  I  think  I  ought  to  tell  you  that  I  think  your 
income  will  not  admit  of  your  setting  up  another 
carriage.  You  could  both  very  well  drive  out  in  the 
same  carriage,  and  when  Leo  needs  it  for  himself 
you  are  reasonable  enough  to  content  yourself  with 
a  walk  on  such  days.  Do  not  be  offended  ;  I  mean 
it  only  for  your  good. " 


Misjudged.  2^ 


Antje's  heart  was  very  heavy.  She  thought  the 
same,  but  Leo  wished  it,  and  she  would  not  for  all 
the  world  have  said,  as  some  women  do  who  have 
brought  a  fortune  to  their  husbands  :  "  Be  more 
economical  with  my  money. "  What  was  hers  was 
his,  and  he  was  the  master. 

What  would  her  father  have  said  to  this  luxury  ? 
she  thought  to  herself;  and  when  she  recalled  his 
grave,  honest  face  she  could  not  help  feeling  ashamed 
of  the  man  who  flung  away  this  hard-earned  gold  in 
all  manner  of  foolish  extravagances.  But  Leo  was 
an  artist,  different  from  other  people,  and  she  loved 
his  light,  careless  laugh,  loved  his  delight  in  beauti- 
ful things,  his  shining  eyes.  She  did  not  grudge 
him  anything — if  he  were  only  contented. 

All  at  once  she  started  up.  There  were  steps  on 
the  ground  outside,  steps  that  she  knew  very  well. 
All  the  blood  rushed  to  her  heart.  She  stood  in 
the  middle  of  the  room,  pale  and  trembling  with 
joy. 

"  Leo  !  "  she  said  softly,  and  her  eyes  were  fixed 
on  the  man  who  entered  hastily,  his  forehead  moist 
as  if  from  walking  quickly,  his  hat  in  one  hand  and 
in  the  other  a  bunch  of  violets,  such  a  bouquet  as 
one  buys  in  a  shop — poor,  drooping  things  which 
would  so  gladly  hang  down  their  heads  if  the  wires 
would  only  suffer  it. 

Antje  did  not  see  the  half-embarrassed,  half- 
vexed  expression  in  her  husband's  eyes,  nor  the 
faded  condition  of  the  flowers.  She  only  felt  that 
he  had  come  back,  that  he  had  brought  her  some 
violets,  that,  after  all,  he  had  not  quite  forgotten  the 
day. 


CHAPTER  IIL 

That  afternoon  Leo  Jussnitz  had  reached  the 
station  just  in  time  to  jump  into  the  first  compart- 
ment he  came  to.  The  whistle  of  the  trainmaster 
had  already  sounded  the  signal  for  starting,  and 
the  conductor  pulled  open  a  door  and  thrust  him 
m.  He  had  a  first-class  season  ticket,  but  he  found 
himself  in  a  third-class  carriage,  and  alone  with  a 
lady.  At  first  he  paid  no  attention  to  her  ;  the  air 
was  horribly  close  and  he  went  to  the  window  to 
open  it.  But  first  he  turned  and,  lifting  his  hat, 
said  :  "  Will  you  allow  me,  Fraulein  ?  " 

The  head,  covered  with  a  broad-brimmed  felt 
hat,  was  raised  a  little. 

"  Oh,  certainly,"  was  the  reply,  in  a  clear  voice. 

Leo  Jussnitz  cast  a  hasty  glance  at  the  face 
beneath  the  shady  hat,  and  saw  two  dark,  almost 
unnaturally  large  eyes.  The  window  was  open 
half-way,  and  he  sat  down  opposite  her  and  looked 
at  her.  He  saw  a  small  mouth,  bright  red  lips,  and 
a  delicately  formed  chin.  The  short  nose  and  the 
two  glowing  eyes  were  shaded  by  the  Rembrandt 
hat.  Where,  for  Heaven's  sake,  had  he  seen  this 
face  before  ? 

Her  eyes  fell  beneath  his  gaze  ;  the  dark  lashes 
wU^h  xuyti  rested  oo  the  pale  cheek  were  wonder- 
luily  long.    He  felt  sure  he  nad  seen  this  all  before  ; 


Misjudged.  31 


and  suddenly  there  came  before  him  the  picture  of 
his  father's  garden  in  the  little  city  of  the  Mark, 
and  a  girl's  face  with  great  dark  eyes  was  looking 
over  the  white-thorn  hedge  which  separated  their 
neighbor's  garden  from  their  own,  and  these  eyes 
smiled  at  him  and  fascinated  him,  the  gymnasiast 
of  eighteen,  till  he  found  himself  standing  by  the 
hedge  with  two  slender  hands  clasped  in  his 
which  stood  out  like  snow  against  the  dark  green 
of  the  leaves.  And  the  moon  shone  down  upon 
them,  and  over  in  the  castle  park  across  the  brook 
the  nightingales  were  singing  as  he  kissed  the  rosy 
lips. 

But  this  could  not  be  she,  for  sixteen  years  had 
passed  since  that  period  of  his  first  love  ;  and  this 
young  creature  before  him  was  perhaps  twenty 
years  old.  He  looked  at  her  again,  and  the  memory 
of  that  time  became  so  vivid  that  he  felt  quite  be- 
wildered. 

"  Tony  von  Zweidorf  I  "  he  said,  half  aloud. 

A  light  laugh  was  the  reply. 

"  You  know  me,  then  ?  "  inquired  the  girL  "  But 
I  am  not  Tony — ah,  my  dear  Tony ! — I  am  the 
youngest,  Hilda." 

"  Hildegarde  von  Zweidorf — from  Altwedel  ?  " 

She  nodded.     "  And  you,  sir  ?  " 

He  took  off  his  hat  and  murmured  his  name. 

"  You  used  to  know  Tony  ?  "  inquired  the  young 
girl,  drawing  up  her  slender  figure  as  comfortably 
as  possible  into  the  hard  corner  of  the  wooden  seat. 

"  Yes,  Fraulein  Hilda." 

"  But,  then,  you  must  have  seen  me  too  \  ** 

**  You  were  a  child  then,  Fraulein  von  Zweidorf, 


3a  Misjudged. 


and  will  not  be  likely  to  remember  the  tall  gymna 
siast  who  used  to  go  to  dancing-school  with  Frauleiu 
Tony." 

"  No,  I  do  not.  Have  you  been  long  away  from 
Altwedel?" 

"  Very  long.  My  father  was  sent  from  there  to 
Silesia,  and  I  .  .  .  Are  you  still  living  in  the 
little  house  on  the  *  Alta  * .?  " 

"  Yes.     It  is  such  a  queer  little  old  house." 

"  Ah,  I  used  to  think  it  was  delightful ;  we  lived 
close  by.*'^ 

"  There  is  a  factory  there  now,  an  ugly  red-brick 
building,  with  tall  chimneys  and  a  lot  of  factory 
girls,  and  a  shrill  bell  which  calls  them  to  work." 

"  What  a  pity  !     And  how  are  your  parents  ?  " 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  papa  is  sometimes  very  poorly 
and  he  is  always  cross,  and  mamma  " — she  shrugged 
her  shoulders — "  of  course  suffers  from  it.  It  is 
always  like  that  with  us,  sir." 

"  And  Fraulein  Tony  ?  Is  she  as  fond  of  dancing 
as  ever  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Tony  dance  !  Tony  has  grown  very  quiet 
and  sad.  Besides,  it  is  always  dull  and  stupid  at 
our  house,"  she  replied  with  a  sigh. 

He  made  no  answer ;  he  looked  at  his  opposite 
neighbor  with  a  compassionate  glance.  What  a  pic- 
ture of  discomfort  her  words  called  up  before  him  ! 

He  knew  every  nook  and  corner  of  the  little 
house  that  the  family  occupied,  and  he  knew  that 
in  every  corner  were  the  traces  of  poverty,  priva- 
tion, and  discontent.  The  tax-collector,  Von  Zwei- 
dorf,  formerly  an  officer,  had  become  acquainted 
with  his  wife,  the  little  Mademoiselle  Berg^re,  at  a 


Misjudged.  33 


comrade's  house  ;  she  came  from  French  Switzer- 
land, and  filled  the  position  of  a  bonne.  Of  course, 
he  had  not  been  in  earnest  at  first  in  his  pursuit  of 
the  beautiful  girl,  but  the  time  came  when  as  a  man 
of  honor  he  could  not  refuse  to  marry  her.  The 
commander  of  the  regiment  and  his  comrades 
had  moved  heaven  and  earth  in  trying  to  dissuade 
him  from  taking. this  step,  but  he  was  not  to  be 
turned  from  his  resolve,  and  the  hand  that  wrote 
his  resignation  did  not  tremble.  He  never  told 
any  one  how  hard  it  had  been  for  him,  but  his 
troubled  face,  his  crushed  air,  his  shrinking  shyness 
spoke  loudly  for  him,  and  his  wife  suffered  no  less. 
His  eldest  daughter,  Tony,  a  beautiful  child,  had  at 
first  brought  some  consolation  to  the  heart  of  the 
unhappy  man,  but  then  other  children  had  come,  all 
girls,  miserable  girls  ;  and  his  cares  grew  day  by 
day,  and  his  daughters  bloomed  unseen  and  un- 
sought and  were  embittered  by  their  wretched  life. 
They  had  their  father's  pride,  too — they  would  not 
marry  beneath  them,  the  poor  Fraulein  von  Zwei- 
dorf. 

Leo  Jussnitz  was  perfectly  well  aware  of  all  this. 
And  the  youngest  daughter  was  sitting  before  him, 
as  lovely  as  her  sister  had  been,  gazing  out  toward 
the  future  with  the  same  wistful  eyes,  and  the  same 
smile  rested  on  the  lovely  little  mouth.  A  beautiful 
vision  of  something  he  had  not  thought  of  for  a  long 
time  rose  before  him — all  the  blissfulness  of  his 
early  youth,  with  its  high  hopes  and  its  foolish 
raptures  of  a  first  love. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  out  in  the  wide  world, 
Tony  ? " 

3 


34  Misjudged. 


He  said  it  aloud,  and  was  only  recalled  to  him- 
self by  her  hearty  laugh. 

"  My  name  is  Hildegarde,  and  I  am  going  to  my 
aunt  who  lives  in  Dresden.  I  want  to  be  " — she 
drew  herself  up  proudly — "  to  be  a  painter." 

"  A  painter  ?  "  he  inquired,  with  a  smile.  "  Don't 
do  it,  Fraulein  Hilda ;  it  only  brings  disappointment 
and  bitterness." 

"  But  I  have  talent,  sir." 

"  I  do  not  doubt  it  for  a  moment,  but  still " 

"  But  you  cannot  know  what  my  future  will  be  ! " 
she  pouted. 

"  No,  I  am  only  judging  from  my  own  experience. 
When  a  man  struggles  for  the  rewards  of  destiny 
and  almost  succumbs,  how  can  a  weak,  delicate  girl 
hope  to  maintain  herself  ?  And  the  life  of  an  artist 
is  and  always  must  be  a  thorny  path. " 

"Ah,"  she  laughed,  "I  will  not  let  you  frighten 
me,  and  I  am  not  going  to  boast ;  but  really,  sir,  I 
am  very  lucky.  I  must  have  been  bom  under  a 
lucky  star.  Just  listen  and  see  what  will  happen. 
I  shall  get  a  teacher,  a  good  one,  and  then  I  shall 
be  as  industrious  as  I  can,  and  then  I  shall  get  my 
first  commission,  perhaps  half  out  of  compassion, 
and  then  I  shall  do  my  very  best — the  picture  is  suc- 
cessful, it  makes  a  sensation,  and  some  fine  morn- 
ing I  wake  up  and  find  myself  famous  !  No,  no," 
she  continued,  "  I  will  not  hear  anything.  I  shall 
believe  in  my  luck.  I  have  heard  croakings  enough 
at  home.  I  cannot  do  as  my  sisters  have  done,  for 
I  am  different  myself.  Please,  please,"  she  con- 
cluded appealingly,  clasping  her  beautifully  shaped 
hands,  from  which  she  had  drawn  off  the  gloves,  "  do 


Misjudged.  35 


not  say  anything,  do  not  rob  me  of  my  trust  in  a 
brighter  future  than  that  I  have  so  far  had  daily 
marked  out  for  me." 

Her  pale  face  had  flushed  and  her  eyes  sparkled 
with  a  wonderful  fire. 

*'  No,"  he  replied,  quite  carried  away  by  her  en- 
thusiasm, "  no,  I  will  not !  May  you  be  as  success- 
ful in  everything  as  you  hope,  and  if  I  can  be  of 
use  to  you  in  any  way — I  am  an  artist  myself  and 
well  known  in  artistic  circles — you  may  count  on 
me." 

"  There,  didn't  I  tell  you  so  ?  "  she  cried.  "  If 
that  isn't  luck  !  This  very  morning  I  was  wonder- 
ing how  I  should  ever  manage  to  penetrate  to  the 
studio  of  some  celebrated  artist — and  here  I  find 
an  old  acquaintance  of  Tony's,  and  the  doors  fly 
open  to  me." 

"It  is  to  be  hoped  you  will  be  satisfied  with  a 
lesser  celebrity." 

"  You  are  an  artist.  Then  you  must  be  that  Juss- 
nitz  who  painted  the  '  Witch  of  the  Brocken  ' !  I 
saw  the  picture  in  an  illustrated  journal — didn't  I  ? 
And  in  the  original  the  witch  had  red  hair,  the  most 
wonderful  effect  of  color,  the  description  said.  Was 
that  really  you  ?  "  And  she  gazed  at  him  with  wide, 
astonished  eyes. 

"  Yes,  it  was  I,"  he  said,  in  a  low  tone,  returning 
her  gaze. 

They  were  silent  for  a  while  after  this.  "  What 
beauty,"  he  thought,  "what  race !"  as  he  studied 
every  line  of  the  blushing,  girlish  face.  The  train 
slowed  up,  and  the  whistle  of  the  locomotive  indi- 
cated that  they  were  approaching  their  destination. 


36  Misjudged. 


**  Where  does  your  aunt  live  ? "  he  inquired 
hastily. 

"  X Strasse,  in  the  Friedrichstadt.     Is  it  far 

from  here  ? " 

She  was  standing  up,  and,  with  her  slender  figure 
drawn  to  its  full  height,  she  was  taking  a  handbag 
down  from  the  rack  overhead. 

"  Yes,  a  long  way,"  he  replied. 

"  Oh,  what  a  pity  !  "  she  said. 

He  took  the  bag  from  her  hand. 

"  Will  any  one  come  to  meet  you  ?  " 

"  No.  Auntie  does  not  expect  me  till  to-morrow, 
but  I  had  no  peace  at  home,  and  I  didn't  want  to 
hear  any  .more  sighs  and  croakings.  So  I  started  off 
by  myself  this  morning,  without  telling  any  one,  and 
without  saying  good-by.     I  hate  to  say  good -by." 

He  smiled. 

"  Give  me  your  bag.  I  will  carry  it  to  the 
droschky  for  you." 

"  Thank  you,  but  I  am  going  to  walk.  I  shall 
hire  a  porter." 

"  It  is  impossible,  Fraulein  von  Zweidorf.  You 
must  have  a  carriage.  I  have  something  to  do  in 
the  Friedrichstadt,  too.  Permit  me  to  offer  you  a 
seat  in  my  carriage — I " 

"  No,  I  thank  you,"  she  said  coldly,  with  the  air 
of  a  princess. 

"  I  entreat  you  to  accept  it,"  he  urged,  with  genu- 
ine anxiety.  "You  have  no  idea  how  far  it  is  ;  you 
really  cannot  wander  about  alone  in  Dresden  in  the 
night.  Just  consider  :  I  am  an  old  acquaintance  of 
your  family  and  I  have  a  right  to  help  you  with  my 
advice  and  assistance." 


Misjudged.  37 


She  gave  a  careless  laugh. 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure,  we  are  neighbors,  even  though 
i  really  know  nothing  about  you.  But  I  will  ask 
Tony  to  tell  me  all  she  knows.  Well,  then — if  you 
will  take  me  with  you  !  " 

Jussnitz  called  a  droschky,  and  they  drove  away 
together.  He  sat  quite  silent  at  Hilda's  side, 
while  a  curious  feeling  came  over  him  in  the  pres- 
ence of  this  stranger  whom  yet  he  seemed  to  know 
so  well — she  recalled  the  past  so  vividly  to  him. 

What  a  Philistine  these  passing  years  had  made 
of  him — especially  these  last  few  !  That  time  of 
youthful  gayety,  of  enthusiasm,  of  ambition,  and  of 
mad  pranks  came  back  to  him  with  an  alluring 
charm. 

Tony  von  Zweidorf !  There  was  a  sort  of  violet 
fragrance  about  the  memory  of  this  first  love,  and 
the  gentle  mood  of  that  springtime  of  his  life  came 
over  him  with  renewed  force  at  this  moment. 

His  companion  was  charmed  with  the  River  Elbe, 
with  the  many  lights  that  were  reflected  in  the  dark 
water,  with  all  the  life  and  movement  of  the  great 
city.  She  had  a  hundred  questions  to  ask  to  which 
he  had  to  find  answers.  When  at  length  the  streets 
grew  quieter  and  the  lights  farther  apart,  she  said 
in  a  disappointed  tone :  "  I  am  afraid  my  aunt  lives 
quite  out  of  the  world." 

At  this  moment  the  carriage  stopped  at  a  small 
house  of  only  two  stories,  which  looked  like  a  dwarf 
among  the  large  buildings  four  and  five  stories  high. 
There  was  a  shop  on  the  ground  floor,  which  on  a 
nearer  view  proved  to  be  a  grocer's,  where  vege- 
tables, eggs,  butter,  cheese,  and  pickles  were  to  be 


38  Misjudged. 


had,  and  from  which  a  by  no  means  delightful  odor 
streamed  out  when  Jussnitz  opened  the  door  to 
inquire  if  Frau  Secretary  Berger  lived  in  this  house. 

An  enormously  stout  woman,  who  came  out  of  a 
door  so  small  that  it  was  hard  to  comprehend  how 
she  had  contrived  to  squeeze  through,  wiped  her 
hands  on  her  apron,  and  said  : 

"  You  are  the  niece  of  Frau  Berger,  I  suppose  ? 
Eh,  but  I  am  sorry  ;  she's  gone  out  to  a  tea-party, 
and  I  don't  know  no  more  than  a  baby  where  it  is 
she's  gone  to." 

Hilda  von  Zweidorf  laughed  gayly. 

"  What  am  I  to  do  till  she  comes  back  ? "  she  cried. 
"  Does  my  aunt  generally  get  home  very  late  ?  " 

"  Generally  about  eleven,  Fraulein.  You  can  stay 
here  with  me,  if  you  like.  Or  just  you  wait  a  min- 
ute ;  sometimes  Frau  Berger  puts  the  key  under  the 
mat  before  the  door.     I'll  just  slip  up  and  see," 

The  benevolent  giantess  disappeared,  and  they 
could  hear  the  stairs  creaking  beneath  her  weight 
as  she  toiled  up,  and  then  after  a  while  came  down 
again. 

"  I'm  awful  sorry,  it  ain't  there  ;  but  if  you  want 
to  wait  here  with  me " 

"  Perhaps  you  will  look  after  the  Fraulein *s  trunk,'* 
Jussnitz  interrupted,  an  uncomfortable  expression 
on  his  face.  "  And  in  the  meantime  you  had  better 
come  with  me,  Fraulein  von  Zweidorf.  You  will 
want  something  to  eat,  at  any  rate,  and  a  walk 
through  the  streets  will  be  much  better  than  waiting 
here  in  this  horrible  place." 

This  last  he  said  in  French,  and  she  replied  in 
the  same  language,  with  a  faultless  pronunciation ; 


Misjudged,  39 


"  To  be  sure  I  The  beginning  of  my  future 
does  not  seem  to  be  very  brilliant,  does  it  ?  This 
is  my  first  disappointment.  Auntie  wrote  about 
her  pleasant  house  in  the  suburbs,  and  I  pictured 
to  myself  an  avenue  of  old  trees  and  a  garden  in 
front.     Oh,  reality,  how  hateful  thou  art  !  " 

She  took  the  arm  which  he  offered  her,  and 
walked  away  with  him  through  the  streets. 

For  one  moment  he  thought  of  going  to  some 
fashionable  restaurant,  but  then  he  turned  toward 
a  modest  little  place  in  the  Friedrichstadt ;  it  was 
quite  empty.  They  sat  down  opposite  each  other 
at  the  neat  little  table,  and  at  length  were  able  to 
see  each  other  distinctly  in  the  bright  gas-light. 

Hilda's  beauty  lost  nothing  as  she  took  off  her 
hat  and  displayed  her  beautiful  forehead.  It  was 
evident  she  was  enjoying  the  situation. 

"  Please  tell  me  something  about  yourself,"  she 
said,  as  she  took  a  little  cold  meat.  "  Do  you  live 
in  Dresden  or  out  of  the  town  ?  " 

"  Out  of  the  town,"  he  replied. 

"  Oh,  I  think  I  should  prefer  the  city  itself.  Is 
your  studio  pretty  ?    May  I  see  it  ?  " 

Something  like  a  shadow  came  over  his  face. 

"  Of  course  you  may  see  it,  and  very  often,  I 
hope.  Perhaps  you  will  put  up  with  me  for  a 
teacher  till  you  find  a  better  one  ?  " 

She  put  down  her  knife  and  fork  and  stretched 
out  her  hand  to  him  across  the  table. 

"  How  very  kind  you  are  !  But  I — paint  land- 
scapes !  " 

"  So  do  I,  occasionally.  Besides,  I  only  said  till 
you  find  a  better  one.    And  then  there  is  something 


40  Misjudged. 


I  should  like — I  should  like  to  paint  you,  Fraulein 
Hilda.  I  may  say  Hilda  for  old  acquaintance' 
sake  ?  " 

"  Of  course  !  And  do  you  know  that  I  remember 
you  very  distinctly  now  ?  You  used  to  be  always 
lying  in  wait  for  Tony.  I  used  to  sit  with  my 
sisters  on  the  doorstep,  and  you  always  looked  up 
and  bowed  to  Tony  when  she  stood  at  the  window." 

"  But  you  know,"  he  said,  as  if  in  excuse,  "  my 
way  led  me  past  your  house,  and  as  her  partner  at 
dancing-school  it  was  my  duty  to  bow." 

"  Oh,  yes,  to  be  sure  !  "  She  laughed  again. 
"  And  you  wish  to  paint  me  ?  "  There  was  a  scarcely 
suppressed  tone  of  delight  in  her  voice. 

"  If  you  will  allow  it " 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

**  But  you  must  permit  me  to  send  the  picture  to 
the  Exposition,"  he  added  hastily. 

She  blushed  with  pleasure.     "  Really  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Do  you  dislike  it  ? " 

*'  No,  indeed  !  Why  should  I  ?  People  can  look 
at  me  in  the  street. " 

*'  Very  well.  I  will  come  to  your  aunt's  in  a  day 
or  two." 

Hilda  had  finished  her  supper. 

"  What  shall  we  do  now  ?  "  she  inquired,  as  she 
stood  up  before  the  glass  to  put  on  her  hat  with  its 
crushed  ostrich  feather,  which,  nevertheless,  was 
very  becoming  to  her. 

"  We  can  go  and  look  in  at  the  shop  windows,  if 
you  are  not  too  tired." 

No,  she  was  not  too  tired  ;  far  from  it !  She  put 
on   her  black  woollen   gloves,  from  which  a   rosy 


Misjudged. 


finger-tip  peeped  out  here  and  there,  and  allowed 
Herr  Jussnitz  to  help  her  on  with  her  close-fitting 
jacket  of  cheap  rough  cloth,  which,  as  it  was  new, 
did  not  look  so  badly,  and  took  up  her  muff.  It 
was  of  black  catskin,  or  of  colored  rabbit.  Then 
she  declared  herself  ready. 

They  took  the  horse-car  to  the  Post-platz,  and 
then  made  their  way  through  the  crowd  of  people  to 
the  brilliantly  lighted  sidewalk.  He  never  seemed 
tired  of  standing  with  her  before  the  shop  windows, 
each  one  of  which  put  her  into  ecstasies  of  delight. 
She  had  never  seen  so  large  a  city  before.  In  front 
of  a  jeweller's  window  in  which  were  flashing  jewels 
of  all  colors,  she  became  fairly  speechless.  She 
stood  with  wide-open  eyes  and  parted  lips.  It 
seemed  to  Jussnitz  as  if  a  look  of  longing  came 
over  the  lovely  childish  face. 

"  What  would  a  thing  like  that  cost  ?  **  she  in- 
quired at  length,  pointing  to  a  small  brooch  of 
diamonds. 

"  Oh,  a  couple  of  thousand  marks  !  "  he  replied. 

"  Two  thousand  marks  ?    Oh,  impossible !  " 

That  was  more  than  her  father's  whole  income,  on 
which  a  large  family  had  to  live. 

"  But  tell  me,"  she  continued,  as  they  walked  on 
again,  "  how  much  does  one  get  for  a  picture  when 
one  is  celebrated  ?" 

He  smiled  a  little,  her  eyes  looked  so  feverishly 
eager. 

*'  When  one  is  celebrated,  he  can  get  his  own 
price,  Fraulein  Hilda." 

"  More  than  such  a  brooch  costs,  much  more  ?  * 
she  inquired. 


42  MtsjudgeOi 


"  Oh,  yes  !  " 

She  gave  a  deep  sigh. 

"  Now  I  must  take  you  home,"  he  began,  after  a 
Jong  silence.     He  felt  suddenly  in  a  hurry. 

She  followed  him  without  a  word  to  the  nearest 
droschky,  and  they  drove  back  in  silence  to  hei 
aunt's  little  house. 

"  I  will  wait  with  the  woman  ;  it  is  still  all  dark 
upstairs,"  said  Hilda.  "  Thank  you  so  much,  Hen 
Jussnitz,  and — please,  please " 

He  was  standing  with  his  hat  in  his  hand,  besidf 
her,  in  front  of  the  grocer's  shop. 

"  Command  me  in  anything,  Fraulein  Hilda." 

"  Please,  please  do  not  forget  your  promise,  and 
come  to  us  for  the — for  the  lessons." 

"  I  will  come  in  three  days." 

He  felt  a  grateful  pressure  of  the  little  hand  and 
she  disappeared  in  the  doorway,  and  Jussnitz  could 
see  through  the  window  the  stout  woman  conduct- 
ing the  beautiful  girl  into  the  room  behind  the  shop. 

The    droschky    was    still    waiting.     "  Drive    to 

Z Strasse,  No.  13,"  he  called  out ;  "  but  go  fast, 

if  you  want  to  earn  a  good,  pour-boire." 

The  driver  grumbled  a  little,  for  Z Strasse  was 

quite  at  the  other  end  of  the  town.  Then  he  gave 
a  cut  at  his  horse  and  they  rattled  away.  In  half 
an  hour  they  got  off  the  pavement,  the  scattered 
gas-lamps  shed  their  light  on  the  trees  of  a  splendid 
old  avenue,  and  a  few  villas  appeared  among  the 
autumn  foliage.  The  carriage  stopped  at  the  end 
of  this  street  of  gardens.  Jussnitz  jumped  out  and 
touched  the  electric  bell  on  the  wrought-iron  gate, 
and  as  he  waited  for  some  one  to  come  and  open  it 


Misjudged,  43 


he  tried  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  house  belonging 
to  this  garden.  It  must  be  very  far  down  in  the 
garden,  for  he  could  only  see  a  confusion  of  leafless 
trees,  of  shrubs  and  green  firs,  among  which  the 
avenue  was  lost  to  sight.  At  length  he  perceived  a 
lantern  approaching,  swung  in  the  hand  of  an  old 
woman. 

"  Who  is  there  ?  "  was  the  rather  peevish  ques- 
tion, asked  from  a  distance. 

"  Is  there  a  studio  to  let  here  ?  "  said  Jussnitz. 

"  Yes,  but  it  can  only  be  seen  from  nine  o'clock 
in  the  morning  till  five  in  the  afternoon." 

"  I  don't  want  to  see  it.     I  want  to  rent  it." 

The  old  woman,  who  had  only  just  opened  the 
gate,  held  up  the  lantern  and  let  it  shine  on  the  face 
of  the  stranger,  who  she  thought  must  be  slightly 
insane. 

"  Are  there  any  other  rooms  belonging  to  it  ? " 
he  inquired. 

"A  sitting-room,  a  bed-room,  and  another  little 
room." 

"  Very  good.     Who  else  lives  in  the  house  ?  " 

"  No  one,  except  Fraulein  Brandt,  who  is  here  a 
few  weeks  in  the  summer  sometimes." 

"  Does  the  villa  belong  to  her  ?  " 

"  Yes.  But  she  has  got  another  house  in  Strehlen, 
and  she  is  old  besides." 

"  You  are  the  wife  of  the  porter  ?  " 

"  Yes,  if  you  like  to  call  me  so,  but  I  haven't  any 
husband  now." 

"  Do  you  attend  to  the  service  ?  '* 

"Yes,  sir." 

**  Very  well,  then,  I  will  take  the  studio,  and  in 


44  Misjudged, 


three  days  I  will  send  some  people  here  to  furnish 
it.     Here  is  my  card,  and  this  is  for  you." 

"  Without  coming  in  ?  But  if  you  wish  to  see 
the  rooms,  sir — "  The  old  woman  was  suddenly  all 
politeness. 

"  I  will  look  at  them  in  three  days,"  he  replied. 
"  Good-night." 

"  Good-evening,  sir." 

Jussnitz  got  into  the  droschky  again  and  men- 
tioned a  well-known  restaurant,  while  the  old  woman 
went  away  with  her  lantern,  shaking  her  head  vig- 
orously, and  was  soon  lost  to  sight  in  the  lonely 
garden. 

Jussnitz  suddenly  took  off  his  hat ;  his  face  was 
hot  and  flushed.  What  was  he  about  to  do  ?  He 
laughed  at  his  own  eagerness.  The  feverish  desire 
to  accomplish  something,  the  old  strong,  creative 
force,  had  been  reawakened  in  him  by  the  sight  of 
this  beautiful  girl  with  a  power  that  he  had  not  felt 
for  a  long  time.  He  felt  like  a  sick  man  who  begins 
for  the  first  time  to  have  a  hope  of  recovery. 

He  would  paint  her.  He  would  make  a  sensa- 
tion with  this  picture,  and  in  order  to  do  this  he 
must  free  himself  from  all  bondage.  He  must  have 
this  quiet  studio,  for  how  could  he  bring  this  girl 
home  to  Antje  ?  It  was  impossible.  Antje  with  her 
prudery,  her  narrow-mindedness — and  this  young 
creature,  who  reminded  him  of  a  superb  wild  horse 
of  the  steppes.  It  would  be  absurd.  Besides,  if 
he  were  ever  going  to  amount  to  anything  as  a 
portrait  painter,  it  was  absolutely  necessary  that 
he  should  tear  himself  away  from  all  his  pres- 
ent surroundings,  from   the   neighborhood   of  his 


Misjudged.  45 


wife.  He  would  not  encounter  her  horrified  eyes 
when  a  model  entered  the  house,  for  she  would 
never  be  able  to  understand  ;  he  had  long  felt  that, 
and  therefore  had  long  desired  to  take  a  studio. 

Strangely  enough,  at  this  moment  there  stole  over 
him  a  feeling  of  compassion  for  his  wife.  She  ought 
to  have  married  some  good  fellow,  who  beside  her 
would  have  had  nothing  in  his  head  but  his  count- 
ing-house. What  could  she  do  for  him  with  her 
narrowness,  inherited,  and  fostered  by  her  training  ? 
And  he  ?  He  felt  the  paralyzing  burden  of  a  woman 
who  was  not  his  intellectual  equal  more  and  more 
every  day.  An  artist  had  no  right  to  marry,  at  least 
not  like  this.  No,  he  was  doing  the  best  thing  pos- 
sible when  he  took  the  studio,  which  a  fellow  artist 
had  had  who  had  now  gone  for  a  long  sojourn  at 
Sorrento. 

"  It  is  best  so,"  he  said  half-aloud,  as  he  entered 
with  unclouded  brow  the  fashionable  restaurant 
^hich  he  was  accustomed  to  frequent.  Only  four 
or  five  gentlemen  greeted  him,  and  they  looked  sur- 
prised at  the  sight  of  him. 

"  What  the  devil,  Jussnitz,  brings  you  here  at 
nine  o'clock  at  night  ?"  inquired  an  officer.  "Do 
you  know  that  Kloden  and  I  had  actually  planned 
to  take  you  by  storm  this  evening  ?  Your  old  friend 
declared  you  were  celebrating  the  anniversary  of 
your  wedding-day  to-day.  He  heard  it  from  Baron- 
ess Erlach,  who  was  to  take  supper  with  you  this 
evening." 

"  YeG,  she  told  Fraulein  von  Bardeleben  so  this 
morning  m  my  presence,"  said  another,  in  confirma- 
tion. 


46  Misjudgea. 


Leo  Jussnitz  looked  quite  dismayed  for  a  mo- 
ment. Then  he  said,  quickly  recovering  himself  : 
*'  My  wife  has  a  very  bad  headache.  I  had  some 
important  business  in  town,  and  I  am  only  going 
to  drink  a  glass  of  beer  and  then  I  am  going  straight 
home.  By  the  way,"  he  continued,  as  he  took  up 
his  beer-glass  with  its  silver  cover,  "  I  shall  hold 
you  to  your  word,  gentlemen  ;  come  out  to  us  to- 
morrow." 

Oh,  certainly,  they  would  all  come,  but  Jussnitz 
must  stay  a  while  longer,  it  was  so  infernally  dull,  as 
every  one  had  gone  to  the  wedding  of  little  Count- 
ess Mellenthieu. 

"  Impossible  !  "  replied  Jussnitz,  and  after  having 
settled  everything  for  the  following  day,  he  left  the 
restaurant.  In  the  first  flower-shop  which  he  found 
open,  he  bought  a  bunch  of  violets.  As  he  was 
leaving  the  shop  with  the  violets  in  his  hand,  he 
turned  back  and  ordered  a  basket  of  flowers  to  be 
sent  to  Fraulein  von  Zweidorf,  in  X Strasse. 

"  Will  you  send  your  card  with  it  ? "  inquired 
the  shop-woman, 

"  No,"  he  replied,  putting  up  his  purse. 

"  But  you  have  forgotten  your  violets,  sir,"  the 
woman  called  after  him. 

He  came  back  in  some  vexation,  snatched  up  the 
forgotten  flowers,  and  drove  to  the  station.  He  just 
caught  the  train  and  jumped  into  a  carriage. 

"  How  you  look,  Jussnitz  ;  are  you  ill  ?  "  asked  a 
good-natured  voice. 

"  Oh,  is  it  you,  Barrenberg  ?  No,  not  at  all  ill, 
only  rather  hurried.  I  wanted  to  catch  this 
train." 


Misjudged.  47 


"  Have  you  been  at  the  club  ?  I  suppose  there 
was  no  one  there " 

"  Oh,  yes."  And  he  mentioned  the  names  of  the 
gentlemen. 

"  My  cousin  is  at  your  house  this  evening,  Juss- 
nitz." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  think  so,  Barrenberg  ;  the  Baroness 
was  there  yesterday." 

"  And  she  had  an  invitation  from  your  wife  for 
to-day.     I  am  sure  of  it." 

Jussnitz  laughed. 

"  All  a  mistake,  my  dear  Barrenberg.  She  even 
refused  me  a  sitting — on  the  score  of  headache." 

"  The  little  liar  !  She  wrote  me  not  to  come  this 
afternoon,  not  till  late  this  evening.     We  are  going 

with  the  horses  to  the  races  at  H to-morrow 

morning.  Are  you  going  ?  "  asked  the  portly  man, 
whom  one  would  hardly  believe  had  once  been  a 
cavalry  officer. 

"  Perhaps,"  replied  Jussnitz. 

"  You  had  better  come  !  The  hussars  have  in- 
vited us  to  breakfast — and  I  will  take  you." 

"  Thanks,  if  I  possibly  can,"  he  said  carelessly. 
The  cousin  of  the  beautiful  Baroness  was  a  bore  to 
him  this  evening.  He  was  thinking  of  Antje  and 
how  he  could  excuse  himself  for  having  forgotten 
what  day  it  was.  He  hoped  she  had  not  waited  up 
for  him. 

*'  Have  you  a  carriage  to  meet  you,  Barrenberg  ?  " 
he  inquired.  He  remembered  that  he  had  ordered 
his  for  a  later  train. 

"  I  hope  Irene  will  have  sense  enough  to  send  me 
her  coupe.'' 


48  Misjudged. 


"  Then  will  you  give  me  a  lift,  Barrenberg  ?  " 

"  Of  course,  Jussnitz." 

The  carriage  was  there,  and  Jussnitz  got  out  near 
his  house  as  they  drove  by.  As  he  walked  along  by 
the  garden  wall,  he  saw  a  light  in  the  dining-room, 
and  angrily  bit  his  lip.  She  was  really  sitting  there 
waiting  for  him,  and  he  knew  precisely  how  she 
would  receive  him,  without  a  word  of  reproach,  with 
a  pale  face,  with  a  quiet,  indifferent  manner,  and  in 
her  eyes  an  expression  sad  as  death. 

He  opened  the  hall-door  angrily.  There  she 
stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  glowing^like  a  rose, 
and  with  a  happy  light  in  her  eyes  as  she  saw  the 
bouquet  in  his  hand. 

She  said,  **  Leo  !  "  in  her  usual  hesitating  fashion. 

She  was  utterly  different  from,  the  vision  he  had 
just  had  of  her,  but  that  did  not  make  matters 
easier  for  him.  "  How  good  of  you,  Leo,"  she  said 
as  she  took  the  flowers  from  his  hand.  She  would 
gladly  have  said  :  "  You  don't  know  how  glad  I  am 
you  have  come  back,"  but  she  dared  not.  He 
looked  so  tired  and  worn, 

"  I  hurried  a  good  deal,"  he  said,  as  if  he  had 
read  his  wife's  thoughts.  "  I  wanted  to  catch  the 
nine  o'clock  train." 

He  poured  himself  out  a  wine-glass  half  full  of 
rum,  and  sitting  down  at  the  table,  he  added  :  "  I 
had  to  go  to  town  to-day,  on  account  of — on  ac- 
count of  the  studio.     I  have  taken  it." 

Antje  looked  at  him  with  startled  eyes ;  she  knew 
nothing  about  it. 

"  A  studio  in  town  ?  "  she  inquired,  and  her  voice 
was  husky. 


Misjudged.  49 


"  Yes  ;  you  know  I  want  to  try  portrait  painting. 
Should  I  have  my  models  come  here  ?  That  would 
not  suit  me." 

"  And  you  will  go  there  every  day,  and ?  " 

"  Oh,  every  day — I  don't  know  about  that.  It 
may  be  that  I  shall  be  away  for  weeks,  when  I  have 
an  interesting  work  on  hand.  That  will  settle 
itself." 

She  drooped  her  head  and  was  silent. 

■*  Do  order  in  something  fit  to  eat,  Antje.  I  can't 
satisfy  my  appetite  with  those  little  thin  slices  of 
bread  and  butter  and  sausage.  Do  you  always 
spread  such  a  splendid  table  when  you  are  alone  ? 
I  shouldn't  wonder  if  you  followed  your  mother's 
example  next  and  acquired  a  taste  for  gruel  when 
I  am  away. — Franz  !  " — he  turned  to  the  servant— 
"  bring  me  a  bottle  of  Roderer."  And  turning  to 
Antje  with  a  yawn,  he  added  :  "  We  will  drink  to 
our  wedding-day,  child.  Good  Heavens,  how  tired 
I  am  !  The  shop  is  out  at  Racknitz,  or  whatever 
the  hole  is  called." 

"  So  far  away  ? "  she  inquired,  absently,  and  laid 
the  violets,  which  smelt  like  dried  grass,  down  on  the 
mantle-piece. 

"  Far  ? "  he  said.  "  What  do  you  call  far  ?  It  is* 
an  hour's  drive,  perhaps,  from  hers." 

Only  an  hour !     But  this  hour  seemed  to  Antje 
like  thousands  of  miles. 
4  . 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Frau  Secretary  Berger  might  be  designated 
as  the  very  pattern  of  a  worthy  burgher-woman, 
with  all  the  virtues  and  failings  of  her  class — good- 
natured,  painfully  neat,  economical  even  to  stingi- 
ness, •  inquisitive  as  a  magpie  with  regard  to  the 
affairs  of  her  good  friends  and  neighbors,  always 
ready  to  help  others  in  misfortune,  and  pitilessly 
stern  in  all  moral  questions  ;  added  to  this,  a  rather 
choleric  temperament,  a  wagging  tongue,  and  a 
great  liking  for  coffee-  and  tea-parties,  in  which 
one  could  always  speak  a  word  in  season  among 
those  who  were  like-minded. 

She  lived  on  her  very  modest  widow's  pension 
and  the  income  of  a  fortune  of  five  thousand  tha- 
lers  which  she  had  brought  with  her  to  her  hus- 
band, and  lived  very  comfortably  according  to  her 
own  ideas,  even  saving  out  something  for  the  poor 
and  sick,  though  she  always  stormed  and  scolded 
horribly  whenever  any  one  applied  to  her  for  help. 
Her  relations  in  the  little  city  of  the  Mark  had  al- 
ways been  a  thorn  in  her  side.  She  had  always  de- 
clared openly  to  her  late  husband  that  she  couldn't 
bear  such  shiftless  people  as  those  Von  Zweidorf& 
Every  time  the  announcement  of  the  birth  of  a 
child  reached  her — and   this  had   happened  nine 


Misjudged,  51 


times — she  lifted  up  her  voice  and  called  heaven 
and  earth  to  witness  that  she  would  never,  never 
do  anything  for  these  wretched  tempters  of  Provi- 
dence ;  that  the  relations  in  the  Mark  were  very 
much  mistaken  if  they  thought  that  she,  Frau  Polly 
Berger,  born  a  Trutz,  would  ever  help  to  put  bread 
into  the  mouths  of  all  those  superfluous  chil- 
dren. 

"  I  never,  never  will !  Do  you  hear,  Berger  ?  " 
she  concluded. 

Yes,  Berger  heard,  but  he  made  no  remark.  He 
knew  very  well  that  within  the  next  twelve  hours  a 
little  package,  with  every  possible  thing  that  could 
be  needed  for  mother  and  child,  and  even  with  a 
few  shining  thalers,  would  be  done  up  in  a  bundle 
of  linen  and  sent  off  by  post.  And  so  he  let  her 
scold,  the  plump  little  woman  with  the  saucy  snub- 
nose,  from  which  her  glasses  were  always  falling  off. 

Occasionally  he  would  say  :  "  Polly,  you  shouldn't 
make  foolish  vows.  You  see,  I  sha'n't  live  much 
longer,  and  when  you  have  carried  me  out  to  the 
churchyard,  it  will  be  very  lonely  for  you,  for  you 
won't  have  any  one  to  listen  to  you  quietly  when 
you  scold,  and  so  you  will  be  sure  to  take  one  of 
the  Zweidorf  young  ones  home " 

"  I  ?  To  be  my  everlasting  plague  and  torment  ?  " 
cried  Frau  Polly.  "Just  consider  a  little,  Berger, 
before  you  talk  such  nonsense,  what  an  extra  por- 
tion of  folly  those  children  must  inherit  from  such 
parents.  A  girl  like  that  would  be  just  as  likely  as 
not  to  get  up  a  love-affair  under  my  very  eyes,  just 
as  her  mother  did  before  her,  or  get  into  debt  as  her 
father  does.    And  you  want  me  to  lend  my  coun- 


$2  Misjudged, 


tenance  to  a  thing  like  that  ?  Berger,  I  haven't 
deserved  this  of  you."  i 

And  then  she  burst  into  sudden  sobs.  "  I  know- 
she  is  your  sister — but — you  know,  Berger,  I  am 
your  wife,  and,  not  to  mention  all  the  other  things, 
you  ought  not  to  talk  about  dying.  I  shall  die  of 
grief  if  you  leave  me  all  alone  in  this  wicked  world." 

But  he  did  leave  her  alone  one  day,  and  at  first 
Frau  Polly  was  quite  crushed  by  the  loneliness 
which  followed  upon  his  death.  It  was  fortunate 
that  she  had  40  many  good  friends,  and  was  so 
fond  of  her  tea- and  coffee-parties.  By  degrees 
she  grew  accustomed  to  her  widowhood,  grew  still 
more  economical,  interested  herself  more  for  stran- 
gers, and  had  plenty  of  time  to  observe  her  neigh- 
bors from  her  window.     She  did  not  die  of  grief. 

Sometimes,  it  is  true,  she  was  overcome  by  a  long- 
ing for  a  friendly  voice — when  it  was  bad  weather, 
and  she  sat  at  home  all  alone  in  the  twilight  with 
her  knitting — but  as  yet  she  had  no  thought  of 
taking  one  of  the  Zweidorfs. 

And  now  it  had  come  to  pass,  after  all,  just  as 
the  late  Berger  had  prophesied.  A  Zweidorf  girl 
was  to  make  her  entry  into  the  quiet  widowed 
dwelling  of  the  Frau  Secretary  Berger.  When,  one 
day,  one  of  those  weary,  anxious  letters  had  come 
from  Herr  von  Zweidorf,  she  had  made  answer  that 
he  might  send  her,  in  Heaven's  name,  the  girl  who 
wanted  to  learn  to  paint.  It  is  true  that  a  few  hours 
later  she  was  scolding  herself  for  it.  Now  her  easy 
life  was  all  over,  and  instead  of  buying  half  a 
pound  of  meat,  as  she  now  did,  she  must  in  future 
buy  three-quarters.     She  hesitated  as   to   whethet 


Misjudged.  53 


she  should  not  write  and  stop  her  on  the  score  of 
illness.  Then  the  thought  occurred  to  her,  that 
this  Hildegarde — "What  a  silly,  high-flown  name! 
Well,  we  will  soon  drive  your  aristocratic  ideas  out 
of  your  head,  my  dear  " — that  this  Hildegarde  could 
not  paint  the  whole  day  long,  and  it  would  be  a 
very  good  thing  if  she  should  do  something  prac- 
tical in  the  mornings.  In  this  way  perhaps  she 
might  do  without  the  charwoman,  if  not  altogether, 
at  least  for  some  hours.  "Well,"  she  said  to  her- 
self, comfortingly,  "  I  will  try  it."  She  would  not 
confess  even  to  herself  that  her  compassion  was 
greater  than  all  other  considerations. 

The  good  Polly  !  When  she  came  home  late 
that  evening  from  her  tea-party,  a  slender,  girlish 
figure  was  standing  in  the  dark  hall  beside  the 
stout  grocery  woman.  "  Like  a  young  countess," 
thought  Frau  Polly,  at  the  first  glance.  And  as 
this  young  countess  developed  into  the  niece  she 
had  not  expected  till  the  next  day,  Frau  Polly,  who 
had  just  been  impressing  the  whole  tea-party  with 
her  weighty  speeches,  was  quite  abashed. 

She  had  never  thought  of  that!  She  even  ex- 
cused herself,  in  her  first  confusion,  for  not  being 
at  home  ;  she  made  excuses  for  the  bedroom,  which 
was  at  the  back,  was  hardly  big  enough  to  hold  the 
little  bed,  and  was  absolutely  stifling  with  the  smell 
of  cheese  from  the  store-room  of  the  little  shop, 
which  was  directly  beneath. 

But  Hilda  von  Zweidorf  said  she  was  tired,  very 
tired,  and  was  sure  she  should  sleep  beautifully  ; 
and,  as  she  spoke,  her  eyes  shone  so,  and  seemed  to 
look  so  indifferently  at  the  more  than  simple  fumi* 


54  Misjudged. 


ture,  far,  far  away  into  some  vague  distance,  that 
Aunt  Polly  came  to  the  conclusion  that  she  would 
have  as  an  inmate  one  of  those  dreamy,  enthusiastic, 
artistic  natures  that  hardly  know  if  they  have  warm 
water  set  before  them  instead  of  coffee.  In  fact, 
Hilda  declined  everything  that  was  offered  her,  say- 
ing she  was  not  hungry.  But,  on  the  other  hand, 
she  was  so  heartily  grateful  for  the  refuge  she 
had  found  with  her  dear  Aunt  Polly,  and  asked 
with  such  an  expression  of  touching  sympathy  for 
her  aunt's  health,  that  the  old  lady,  when  the  girl 
was  finally  shut  up  in  her  room,  did  not  know 
whether  to  be  glad  or  sorry;  only  one  thing  was 
clear  to  her,  and  that  was  that  Hilda  would  neither 
cook  nor  sew  nor  help  to  clean  up  the  house. 

Neither  Aunt  Pdlly  nor  Hilda  slept  much  that 
night.  The  young  girl  buried  her  glowing  face  in 
the  pillows  and  dreamed  of  a  wonderful  future. 
The  first  step  was  taken.  Hilda  von  Zweidorf  had 
absolute  faith  in  her  success  in  life  ;  she  had  had  a 
hard  struggle  to  gain  her  father's  consent  to  her  be- 
coming an  artist,  and  she  had  carried  out  this  strug- 
gle with  a  determination  that  no  discouragements 
could  overcome.  It  was  impossible  for  her  to  be- 
lieve that  she,  Hilda  von  Zweidorf,  could  live  on  till 
all  her  bloom  had  faded,  as  her  sister  Tony  had 
done,  and  as  her  other  sisters  seemed  in  a  fair  way 
to  do.  She  had  called  them  "  poor-spirited  crea- 
tures "  over  and  over  again,  and  had  tossed  back 
her  head  when  she  saw  the  four  sisters  who  were 
still  at  home  assembling  in  the  little  room  every 
day  as  the  clock  struck  eight,  to  sew  or  to  knit. 
"  You  are  not  human  beings  ;  you  are  mere  ma- 


Misjudged,  55 


chines  !  "  she  would  cry  out.  **  Do  try  something 
«lse.  Go  out  into  the  world;  good  fortune  will 
never  come  here  to  this  wretched  house  ;  we  must 
^o  and  look  for  it !  " 

But  the  others  thought  Hilda  was  too  extravagant 
in  her  ideas  ;  they  were  far  better  off  here  at  home 
than  Barbie  and  Lottie  in  their  deaconess  house, 
where  they  were  always  in  the  midst  of  sickness, 
misery,  and  death.  Well,  Hilda  had  never  sewed  ; 
she  earned  her  money  by  painting  on  silk  and 
leather.  She  would  sit  out  in  the  meadow  half  the 
day,  painting  water-color  pictures  of  the  old  castle 
on  the  other  side  of  the  river,  the  oak-grove  which 
was  marked  out  against  the  distant  horizon,  or  a 
peasant's  hut  with  a  Wendish  gable  roof  half  hidden 
beneath  huge  linden-trees.  Then,  when  it  was  so 
lonely  all  around  her,  when  the  golden  sunlight 
rested  on  the  meadows,  the  noon-day  bells  sounded 
from  afar,  and  the  bees  hummed  in  the  grass,  her 
dark  eyes  would  gaze  dreamily  out  into  the  distance. 
She  no  longer  saw  what  lay  before  her,  she  only  saw 
a  bright,  shimmering  chaos,  very  vague,  far  from 
clear,  but  she  knew  it  was  happiness,  and  happiness 
was  fame  and  riches ;  and  then — he 

"  He  "  must  be  something  very  aristocratic  and 
distinguished.  She  would  not  be  always  kept  down 
in  this  miserable  poverty ;  she  would  mount  into  the 
more  rarefied  atmosphere  of  the  higher  circles.  And 
why  should  she  not  ?  Hilda  knew  she  was  talented 
and — beautiful.  If  she  could  only  get  away  from 
this  wretched  place,  where,  in  the  absence  of  any 
real  men,  the  gymnasiasts  had  dress  coats  made  for 
themselves  and  put  on  all  the  airs  of  grown-up  men- 


§6  Misjudged. 


Hilda  had  never  been  to  a  ball  in  Altwedel,  and 
when  her  sisters  washed  and  ironed  their  white 
dresses  in  the  sweat  of  their  brows,  and  turned 
their  sashes  on  the  other  side,  she  would  shrug  her 
shoulders  and  say  :  "  Who  is  there  to  see  you  ? " 
And  while  the  others  were  dancing  she  was  lying  at 
home  in  bed  with  wide-open  eyes,  thinking :  "  How 
shall  I  manage  to  get  out  of  this  place  ?  How  shall 
I  begin  to  see  life,  real  life  ?  " 

Hilda  did  not  get  on  very  well  with  her  mother  \ 
the  shy,  crushed  air  of  the  pale  woman  always  irri- 
tated her.  Accustomed  to  receive  only  the  very 
smallest  share  of  all  that  goes  to  make  up  life,  the 
humble  woman  had  got  into  the  habit  of  using  a 
word  which  she  unconsciously  wove  into  all  her 
remarks  :  "  Children,  shall  we  have  a  '  bit '  of  broth 
to-day  ?  "  Or,  "  We  will  go  to  church  for  a  '  bit '  to- 
day." "  Papa  has  a  *  bit '  of  a  headache."  "  I  have 
bought  a  '  bit '  of  stuff  for  a  dress  for  Gretchen." 
"  Hilda,  let  us  have  a  *  bit  *  of  fresh  air  in  the 
room." 

"  Good  heavens,  mamma,  why  should  we  have  a 
*  bit '  ?  Fresh  air  doesn't  cost  anything,  at  any  rate  ; 
you  can  have  as  much  of  it  as  you  like,"  cried 
Hilda. 

"  Oh,  child,  don't  be  so  cross.  I  didn't  mean 
anything  by  it ;  I  was  only  a  *  bit '  absent-minded." 

Ah!  this  life  that  consisted  entirely  of  "bits  "had 
been  frightful  for  Hilda.  Then  at  last  she  had  pre- 
vailed upon  her  father  to  write  to  her  aunt  in  Dres- 
den, and  the  bored,  weary  man  had  yielded  for  the 
sake  of  peace,  as  he  said  ;  and,  contrary  to  his 
expectations,  a  reply  in  the  affirmative  had  come 


Misjudged.  57 


from  Aunt  Polly.  The  letter  had  come  upon  the 
Household  like  a  bomb. 

Frau  von  Zweidorf  had  fitted  out  her  child  a 
"  bit,"  as  well  as  she  could.  The  sisters  good-nat- 
ur^^'diy  gave  whatever  they  could  spare  themselves 
to  help  out  Hilda's  wardrobe,  for  Hilda  had  a 
decided  inclination  for  adorning  and  improving  her 
simple  costumes,  especially  her  hats.  She  accepted 
without  a  ^ang  the  scraggy  ostrich  feather  that  was 
the  pride  ot  Tony's  heart,  and  fastened  it  into  her 
broad-brimmed  Rembrandt  hat  after  her  mother 
had  curled  it  a  Jiitle  "bit."  In  any  case,  according 
to  Hilda's  views,  Tony  had  passed  the  age  when 
one  cares  to  dress-she  was  thirty-twc  The  last 
day  before  her  departure,  the  excited,  impatient 
girl  was  quite  upset.  She  could  not  bear  any  of  her 
sisters'  good  advice,  still  less  their  teasing.  But  her 
father,  with  a  sad  face,  laid  down  a  twe""  "ly-mark 
piece  on  his  work-table  and  said  :  "  I  would  gladly 
give  you  more,  dear  child,  but  I  have  no  more  now." 

Hilda  was  almost  touched,  and  she  did  not  wish 
to  feel  like  that ;  soft-hearted  people  seldom  accom- 
plish anything.  And  she  couldn't  bear  it  at  all  when 
her  mother  said  :  "  Ah,  Hilda,  if  you  were  only  to 
have  a  *  bit '  of  good  luck  ! "  What  should  she 
do  with  a  "bit"  of  good  luck?  She  wanted  a 
great  deal,  all  she  could  get !  What  was  the  use  of 
hanging  back  ? 

She  made  short  work  of  it  finally  ;  she  took  her 
departure  a  day  earlier.  She  made  her  prepara- 
tions quite  secretly  for  leaving  the  house  at  five 
o'clock  in  the  morning.  It  was  easy  enough  for  hei 
to  get  away,  for  she  slept  alone  in  an  attic  room. 


58  Misjudged. 


Fritz,  a  little  neighbor,  carried  her  bag  to  the 
station  ;  she  had  given  it  to  him  the  night  before 
over  the  hedge.  The  trunk  could  be  sent  after  her. 
She  wrote  a  few  lines  of  farewell  on  a  piece  of 
paper,  laid  it  on  the  kitchen  table,  and  stole  away. 
She  lingered  a  moment  in  front  of  her  parents' 
door ;  then  she  hurried  down-stairs  all  the  faster. 
It  almost  seemed  as  if  she  could  hear  her  mother 
saying :  "  Hilda,  isn't  it  a  little  bit  hard  for  you 
to  leave  us  ? "  No,  it  was  not  hard  for  her,  for 
before  her  was  the  world,  the  whole  wide  world  ! 

It  was  the  first  journey  Hilda  von  Zweidorf  had 
ever  undertaken.  It  would  have  made  another  girl 
anxious  and  bewildered,  but  Hilda  was  as  cool  and 
collected  as  if  she  had  been  an  American  who  had 
done  nothing  but  travel  from  her  childhood  up. 
There  was  a  singing  and  ringing  in  her  ears  ;  even 
the  very  rolling  of  the  wheels  made  a  melody  for 
her,  for  she  was  travelling  toward  her  happiness  ! 

How  fortunate  it  was  that  she  had  not  waited 
another  day  !  She  sat  up  in  bed  and  pressed  her 
hands  against  her  throbbing  temples.  Was  she 
really  to  find  everything  at  the  very  first  step  she 
had  taken  out  into  the  world  ?       '" 

He  had  looked  at  her  so  strangely,  with  such  un- 
feigned admiration.  She  recalled  his  appearance  ; 
he  was  a  handsome  man  and  very  aristocratic  look- 
ing. Hilda  only  knew  such  men  from  hearsay,  but 
he  came  up  to  the  ideal  she  had  formed  of  them. 
And  he  was  an  artist  besides,  his  name  was  already 
known.  And  he  had  such  good  taste !  What  a 
seductive  figure  that  "  Witch  of  the  Brocken"  was 
which  Hilda  had  seen  ! 


Misjudged.  59 


With  her  excitable  fancy,  with  her  young  heart 
thirsting  for  happiness,  with  the  determined  char- 
acter which  knew  no  half-way  measures,  she  had 
fully  determined  by  the  time  morning  had  dawned 
that  she  had  found  "him,"  that  she  loved  him  and 
was  beloved  by  him,  and  that  in  the  next  few  days 
some  wonderful  fairy  miracle  would  bring  her  the 
fulfilment  of  all  her  wishes.  She  pictured  it  all  to 
the  minutest  details  ;  she  fancied  herself  walking 
through  the  streets  of  her  native  town  on  his  arm 
— they  were  on  their  way  to  Italy — and  she  heard 
the  people  say:  "  That  is  Hilda  von  Zweidorf,  who 
married  the  celebrated  Jussnitz." 

With  burning  cheeks  and  sparkling  eyes  she  went 
into  the  sitting-room  to  drink  her  coffee  with  Aunt 
Polly.  She  replied  absently  to  a  great  number  of 
curious  questions,  gazed  vacantly  at  the  very  hum- 
ble furniture  of  good  Frau  Berger,  who  in  a  bright 
calico  night-cap,  with  a  jacket  to  match,  was  doing 
the  honors,  and  then  went  and  sat  down  by  the 
window. 

Aunt  Polly  dusted  the  room,  occasionally  casting 
a  wrathful,  questioning  look  at  the  young  girl,  who 
with  carelessly  folded  hands  sat  there,  motionless, 
looking  out  into  the  street.  It  was  an  ugly  street, 
with  houses  that  looked  like  barracks  ;  her  aunt's 
house — one  of  the  few  old  buildings  which  had  not 
yet  fallen  a  sacrifice  to  the  wide-spread  love  of 
building — stood  there  like  a  dwarf  among  the  other 
giant  buildings  packed  to  the  roof  with  tenants. 
On  the  sidewalk,  which  a  thick  autumn  mist  had 
made  damp  and  slippery,  people  were  hurrying  to 
and  fro— not  the  finer  sort  who  had  charmed  Hilda's 


6o  Misjudged. 


eyes  the  day  before,  but  people  who  were  going 
with  an  air  of  haste  and  business  to  their  work  or 
on  some  special  errand.  The  horse-cars  jingled  by, 
coal-carts  rumbled  over  the  pavements,  and  then 
there  came  a  funeral — it  was  all  so  ugly  in  the  gray 
tints  of  an  October  mist. 

Aunt  Polly  left  the  room,  but  Hilda  did  not  per- 
ceive it ;  she  was  still  gazing  out  into  the  street, 
waiting  for  something.  Presently  she  saw  her  aunt 
crossing  the  street  in  her  dark,  ample  waterproof, 
her  umbrella  in  her  hand.  She  waddled  rather 
clumsily  over  the  pavement,  and  before  she  disap- 
peared in  the  opposite  butcher's  shop  she  came  into 
collision  with  a  young  fellow.  Hilda  saw  her  turn 
and  call  something  after  him,  nodding  angrily  the 
while,  but  he  took  no  notice  but  came  straight 
across  to  the  little  house.  Hilda's  heart  stopped 
beating  for  a  moment ;  he  carried  a  wonderful  bas- 
ket of  roses  in  his  hand,  and  she  felt  with  unmistak- 
able certainty  that  those  roses  were  for  her.  She 
got  up  and  went  out  into  the  hall.  Yes,  the  bell 
was  really  ringing  ;  the  boy  came  up  the  stairs  and 
asked  for  Fraulein  Hildegarde  von  Zweidorf. 

"  I  am  Fraulein  von  Zweidorf,"  she  said.  "  From 
whom  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,"  replied  the  messenger,  giving 
the  basket  into  the  young  girl's  hand.  He  lingered 
a  little,  waiting  for  his  fee,  and  looking  at  the  door 
behind  which  Hilda  had  disappeared  ;  then  he  went 
down-stairs  again,  whistling.  But  the  young  girl 
within  the  room  was  hiding  her  face  in  the  flowers 
and  inhaling  their  fragrance,  which  quite  intoxicated 
her. 


Misjudged.  6  a 

Aunt  Polly  found  her  walking  up  and  down  the 
room  with  quivering  limbs  and  burning  cheeks,  the 
roses  still  in  her  hand. 

"  What  is  all  this  ?  "  asked  the  old  lady,  who  "^-as 
just  going  to  put  her  veal  in  to  roast.  "  Where  did 
you  get  the  flowers  ?  " 

The  words  were  spoken  in  a  very  suspicious 
tone. 

"  I  don't  know,  aunt ;  they  were  just  left  here  for 
me. 

"  That  is  curious !  That  thing  must  have  cost 
twenty  marks  at  least,  at  this  time  of  the  year.  Just 
you  listen  to  me,  child  " — and  the  stout  little  aunt 
stood  before  the  slender  niece  with  uplifted  finger 
and  wrathful  eyes — "  all  this  stuff  of  anonyr~ous 
bouquets  and  that  sort  of  thing  won't  go  dov  i  with 
me,  do  you  understand  ?  You  are  living  vnth  a 
respectable  woman,  and  you  will  behave  like  a 
respectable  girl,  or  the  door  will  be  open  to  you — 
there!" 

Every  drop  of  blood  had  fled  from  the  girl's  face, 
and  the  basket  with  the  flowers  dropped  from  her 
limp  hand. 

**Aunt,"  she  gasped,  "what  are  you  sajring? 
What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Oh,  don't  fly  into  a  passion.  I  am  only  telling 
you-jvhat  you  have  got  to  do,"  was  the  reply,  and 
Frau  Polly  peeled  an  onion  over  the  frying-pan. 

*'  I  don't  know  who  the  flowers  came  from,"  said 
Hilda,  defending  herself.  "  I  declare  to  you, 
aunt,  that  I  only  suppose  they  must  have  come  from 
Herr  Jussnitz,  the  artist,  the  man  who  came  here 
vith  me  yesterday.    I  knew  him  before,  he  used  ta 


Misjudged. 


live  next  door  to  us,  and  he  is  going  to  give  me 
lessons." 

"Well,  wcJ,  we  shall  see  about  that.  For  the 
present  you  can  do  something  to  occupy  yourself, 
so  you  need  not  be  sitting  round  thinking  your  silly 
thoughts.  The  stockings  that  came  back  from  the 
last  wash  are  not  darned  yet,  and  the  yarn  is  there 
OR  the  work-table." 

"  I — aunt — I  have  a  headache,  and  I  must  go  out 
into  the  air.  I  didn't  come  here  to  dam  stockings 
either ;  I  want  to  educate  myself  for  an  artist.  You 
will  surely  let  me  visit  the  galleries  ?  " 

Aunt  Polly  was  still  standing  speechless,  with  the 
onion  in  her  hand,  when  her  insulted  niece  shut  the 
hall-door  behind  her,  and  hurried  down  the  street, 
crying  with  vexation  at  the  treatment  she  had  un- 
dergone. 

The  indignant  girl  followed  the  horse-car  track, 
and  at  length  found  herself  in  the  handsomer  part 
of  the  town.  She  asked  some  one  to  tell  her  where 
the  picture  gallery  was,  and  was  told  to  turn  to  the 
right.  She  was  forced  to  wait  on  the  comer  of 
the  street,  there  was  such  a  confusion  of  carriages 
and  foot-passengers.  Among  a  couple  of  horse- 
cars,  several  carts,  and  various  droschkies,  an  ele- 
gant landau  was  slowly  making  its  way.  Hilda  at 
first  only  saw  the  magnificent  black  horses,  which, 
with  their  bits  flecked  with  foam,  were  tossing  their 
heads  with  impatience  at  their  delay.  Then  she 
started.  Wasn't  that  "he"?  The  occupant  of  the 
carriage  had  his  head  turned  toward  his  neighbor, 
a  young,  light-haired  woman,  whose  delicate  oval 
face  was  framed  in  a  simple  steel-blue  capote.    Il 


Misjudged.  63 


must  be  he;  two  men  could  not  look  so  much 
alike ! 

Hilda  pushed  her  way  through  the  crowd  in 
order  to  get  a  better  view,  but  the  street  had 
cleared  just  then  and  the  carriage  dashed  on. 
Hilda  walked  on  mechanically,  still  looking  after 
It.  A  vague,  tormenting  fear  had  seized  upon  her. 
The  carriage  soon  disappeared  from  her  sight, 
and  she  wandered  on,  entirely  occupied  with  her 
thoughts. 

But  it  could  not  be  he  I  He  had  spoken  to  her 
yesterday  of  trials  and  struggles  in  which  he  had 
been  almost  overcome,  and  that  man  in  the  carriage 
did  not  look  like  an  artist  who  had  had  many  priva- 
tions to  endure.  And  Hilda  laughed  at  her  own 
folly.  That  man  in  the  carriage,  with  his  wife  beside 
him,  was  no  doubt  some  rich  manufacturer.  She 
thought  of  her  roses  at  home.  A  man  who  had  a 
beautiful  woman  like  that  beside  him  did  not  send 
flowers  to  other  people  in  that  secret  manner.  She 
gradually  grew  calmer,  and  made  up  her  mind  that 
in  future  she  would  be  more  reasonable,  and  would 
do  her  best  to  get  on  with  Aunt  Polly,  for  she  was 
quite  dependent  on  her  at  present.     She  asked  the 

way  to  X Strasse,  and  finally  reached   home 

after  a  long  walk. 

Aunt  Polly  was  lying  on  the  sofa  with  her  apron 
over  her  face,  taking  her  afternoon  nap.  The  room 
smelt  of  soup  and  nudels ;  a  dish  was  being  kept 
warm,  for  Hilda  no  doubt,  as  the  table-cloth  was  still 
on  the  table  and  her  plate  and  knife  and  fork  were 
awaiting  her.  The  old  lady  did  not  wake ;  Hilda 
silently  ate  her  dinner,  and  after  she  had  finished 


64  Misjudged. 


cleared  the  table  as  silently.  She  had  never  dona 
this  at  home.  She  had  been  petted  and  spoiled  by 
them  all,  and  had  been  looked  up  to  by  them  as  the 
*'  talented  one."  Then  she  softly  opened  a  window, 
and  sat  down  to  try  and  dam  the  stockings. 

She  was  not  very  successful,  for  she  was  quite 
inexperienced,  and  the  roses  which  stood  in  front  of 
her  confused  her  so  that  she  took  blue  yarn  for  black 
stockings.  But  the  old  lady,  who  had  wakened  un- 
observed by  Hilda,  when  she  saw  the  young  girl  so 
busily  at  work  by  the  window,  decided  to  overlook 
the  past.  She  lay  quite  still,  looking  at  the  picture 
before  her,  and  thought  to  herself  that  after  all  it 
was  very  pleasant  to  have  such  afresh  young  creature 
in  the  house.  She  would  try  as  far  as  it  lay  in  hei 
power  to  make  her  sensible  and  to  get  all  those  silly 
ideas  out  of  her  head  which  the  Zweidorf  training 
had  put  there.  And  if  Hilda  got  on  with  her — well, 
then  there  might  be  some  reason  for  making  a 
will. 

"  Look  here,  Hilda,"  she  cried,  suddenly  sitting 
up,  "  we  will  try  it  again  if  you  like.  Come  here  and 
give  me  your  hand." 

And  Hilda  crossed  the  room  and  put  her  hand 
into  her  aunt's  fat  one. 

"  But  you  mustn't  talk  any  more  nonsense  like  that 
of  this  morning." 

**  I  know  very  well  what  I  am  about,  and  I  know 
the  world,  if  I  am  young,"  remarked  Hilda. 

Aunt  Polly  laughed  a  little.  "  You  little  goose  !  " 
she  said.  But  she  was  silenced  by  the  fiery  glance 
of  this  young  creature. 

"  And,"  continued  Hilda,  "  I  must  beg  of  you  not 


Misjudged.  65 

to  forget  that  I  am  a  Zweidorf  and  that  our  motto 
js,  '  Honor  above  all !  ' " 

Aunt  Polly  turned  quite  red.  HJida  was  standing 
before  her  with  the  majestic  air  of  a  young  princess. 
Aunt  Polly  suddenly  discovered  that  she  had  found 
her  master.  She  felt  quite  crestfallen  as  she  went 
into  her  little  dafk  kitchen,  and  stood  there  like  a 
stranger  in  her  own  four  walls. 

There  would  be  a  pretty  kettle  of  fish  if  this  girl 
was  to  be  forever  flourishing  her  motto  and  crest ! 
At  length,  with  a  deep  sigh,  she  went  down-stairs  to 
the  shop  and  sent  the  grocery-woman's  little  girl  for 
the  charwoman.  It  was  no  use  to  try  and  do  with- 
out her.  Aunt  Polly  couldn't  get  up  the  courage  to 
set  her  high-bom  niece  to  washing  the  dishes.  She 
couldn't  even  imagine  now  how  she  had  ever  come  to 
think  of  it.  When  she  came  back  she  found  Hilda 
in  the  little  spare-room,  trying  to  arrange  a  sort  of 
easel  by  the  window  with  the  help  of  a  big  portfolio. 

"  It  is  no  use,"  said  the  girl ;  "  it  is  too  dark." 

And  Aunt  Polly  inquired  if  Hilda  wouldn't  paint 
in  the  best  parlor.  As  soon  as  she  had  said  it  she 
bit  her  lip  and  wondered  what  had  made  her.  And 
yet  she  seemed  to  be  impelled  to  open  the  best  room 
and  look  on  in  silence  as  Hilda  began  eagerly  to  ar- 
range her  things.  She  nodded  resignedly  as  Hilda 
removed  half  a  dozen  china  flower-pots  containing 
artificial  roses  and  camellias  from  the  window-seat, 
with  the  simple  inquiry  :  "  May  I,  aunt  ?  " 

"  Oh,  thank  you  so  much,  aunt,"  said  the  girl, 
when  this  was  done.  "  I  will  take  the  very  best  care 
of  your  nice  room." 

-Jijwardly  she  shuddered  at  the  furnishing  of  this 


66  Misjudged. 


room,  especially  at  the  carpet,  which  was  bright 
blue  with  white  roses  strewed  over  it.  She  was  also 
very  much  disturbed  by  the  horrible  portraits  of  her 
aunt  and  her  late  husband.  But  this  was  only  for 
a  little  while ;  some  day  she  would  neither  have  to 
look  at  the  blue  carpet  or  those  wretched  portraits. 
She  took  out  a  water-color  picture  of  her  father's 
house,  behind  which  was  a  rude  old  stone  tower  and 
some  tall  lindens,  and  while  she  was  getting  her 
color-tubes  and  brushes  out  of  her  paint-box  she 
told  her  aunt  all  manner  of  things  about  her  home. 
Then  she  began  to  finish  her  sketch. 

"It  looks  so  washy,"  said  Aunt  Polly,  "and  the 
paper  is  so  coarse.     Must  you  have  it  like  that  ?  " 

"Yes,"  replied  her  niece,  shortly;  and  Aunt  Polly 
nodded  and  sat  down  with  a  sigh  in  the  opposite 
window,  took  out  her  knitting-work,  and  looked  at 
the  houses  across  the  way.  She  comforted  herself 
with  thinking  that  it  was  really  very  interesting  to 
have  a  niece  who  painted. 

But  Hilda  could  not  paint  forever,  and  it  seemed 
as  if  the  hours  would  never  pass.  How  long  a  day 
could  be — how  horribly  long  !  She  did  not  sleep  at 
night,  she  was  always  thinking  of  the  promised  visit. 
"  I  shall  come  in  three  days,"  he  had  said.  Would 
he  keep  his  word  ? 

The  third  day  came  at  last.  Hilda  sat  down  to 
her  work  at  an  early  hour,  but  her  colors  dried  on 
her  palette,  for  she  was  continually  gazing  out  into 
the  street.  When  it  was  too  late  to  expect  a  visit 
that  morning,  she  fell  into  her  old  state  of  feverish 
unrest ;  she  could  not  eat  a  morsel,  and  walked  up 
and  down  Aunt  Polly's  best  room  like  a  chained 


Misjudged.  67 


Jioness.  If  he  should  not  keep  his  promise,  what 
would  become  of  her  ?  She  did  not  remember  now 
that  she  had  come  here  to  make  her  way  alone  j  she 
felt  as  if  her  bark  would  suffer  shipwreck  if  he 
stayed  away. 

And  he  did  not  come.  It  grew  dark ;  Hilda  could 
no  longer  distinguish  anything  in  the  street.  She 
went  out  to  the  top  of  the  staircase  and  listened  for 
the  door-bell.  Once  she  thought  it  must  be  that 
some  one  was  coming — her  heart  beat  rapidly  and 
her  limbs  shook,  but  it  was  only  the  post-man  who 
brought  her  a  letter  from  home.  She  put  it  in  her 
pocket  and  waited.     He  did  not  come. 

By  evening  she  was  shivering  all  over,  and  then 
she  was  burning  hot.  Aunt  Polly  saw  that  the  girl 
could  scarcely  sit  up  ;  there  were  dark  shadows 
under  her  eyes  and  her  face  seemed  quite  changed. 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  go  to  bed,  child.  I  hope 
you  won't  be  sick  !  " 

And  she  took  the  girl  herself  into  her  little  room. 

*'  Go  to  sleep,"  she  said  ;  "  you  want  some  fresh 
air.  Why  haven't  you  been  out  all  this  time  ?  It 
can't  be  good  for  you  to  be  painting  all  the  time." 

"Yes,  I  am  tired,"  gasped  the  girl.  And  when 
the  little  old  lady  had  gone  away  she  hid  her 
head  in  the  pillows  and  groaned  like  one  wounded 
unto  death.  The  man  had  simply  been  making 
sport  of  her,  or  he  had  forgotten  her  long  ago, 
while  she  had  been  thinking  of  nothing  but  him. 
She  clinched  her  fists  in  anger  and  wondered  how 
she  could  revenge  herself  if  she  should  ever  meet 
him  again.  At  this  moment  she  could  very  well 
comprehend    that   there   were    women   who   were 


68  Misjudged, 


capable  of  stabbing  a  man  who  had  been  unfaith- 
ful to  them.  She  did  not  sleep  that  night,  and  the 
next  morning  she  was  hardly  strong  enough  to  get 
up,  but  the  hope  that  he  might  still  come  that  day 
gave  her  courage. 

She  read  her  letter  from  home  to-day.  It  was 
from  her  mother.  The  lines  were  overflowing  with 
motherly  tenderness  and  anxiety,  but  there  was  a 
little  touch  of  wounded  feeling,  too. 

"  When  I  found  your  parting  note  on  the  kitchen 
table,  Hilda,  I  could  not  keep  back  my  tears,"  she 
wrote.  "  I  thought  if  you  had  only  cared  for  your 
mother  the  'least  little  bit,'  you  would  not  have 
gone  away  without  saying  good-by.  May  God 
grant  that  all  your  golden  dreams  may  come  true, 
dear  child,  and  may  you  be  spared  all  disappoint- 
ments ! " 

Tears  rushed  to  Hilda's  eyes,  but  she  brushed 
them  angrily  away.  If  her  mother  could  only  know 
what  a  disappointment  her  "  dear  child  "  had  al- 
ready encountered  !  But  she  must  never  know  that, 
neither  she  nor  any  one  else  in  the  world  !  And 
Hilda  sat  down  again  to  her  painting  and  looked 
out  into  the  street.  Her  aunt  insisted  upon  her 
going  out,  but  she  refused  obstinately.  She  was 
waiting.  And  when  the  twilight  came  on  again,  she 
suddenly  started  up  from  her  chair,  and  then  sank 
helplessly  back — a  man's  voice  in  the  hall  was 
asking  for  Fraulein  von  Zweidorf. 

She  had  not  heard  the  bell,  she  had  not  seen 
him  coming ;  but  here  he  was,  Aunt  Polly  was 
bringing  him  in.  The  old  lady  hurried  off  to  get 
the  lamp,  and  when  she  came  back  she  found  him 


Misjudged.  69 


standing  before  Hilda,  who  was  sitting  in  her  chair 
pale  as  death. 

Leo  Jussnitz  was  very  civil  to  Aunt  Polly.  He 
told  her  about  his  former  friendly  relations  with 
the  Zweidorf  family  ;  how  glad  he  was  to  be  able 
to  be  of  some  use  to  Fraulein  Hilda,  here,  whom 
he  had  known  when  she  was  a  little  girl ;  how 
pleased  he  was  to  find  her  here  under  the  protection 
of  so  kind  an  aunt ;  and  how  he  had  come  to  make 
arrangements  for  giving  her  lessons. 

Aunt  Polly  kept  her  eyes  on  his  right  hand,  but 
there  was  no  sign  of  a  wedding-ring  to  be  seen  be- 
neath his  faultlessly  fitting  glove.  Hilda  did  not 
speak  at  first,  and  it  was  not  until  he  turned  to  her 
directly  and  asked  if  it  would  suit  her  to  begin  her 
lessons  the  next  day,  and  if  she  could  give  him 
her  first  sitting  the  day  after,  that  the  color  began 
to  come  back  into  her  face. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  shortly ;  and  she  added  :  "  In 
what  dress  will  you  paint  me  ? " 

"  In  what  could  I  paint  you  but  a  Spanish  man- 
tilla ? "  he  said,  looking  at  her  with  undisguised  ad- 
miration. "  But  you  must  look  as  you  do  to-day, 
so  pale  and  so  angry  and —  "  So  beautiful,  he  was 
going  to  say,  but  he  choked  back  the  last  words. 

She  made  no  reply.  Aunt  Polly  was  also  silent 
and  dared  not  make  any  remark. 

"  Where  is  your  studio .? "  inquired  Hilda,  at  length. 

He  mentioned  the  street. 

"Good  Heavens,"  cried  Aunt  Polly,  "that  is  at 
the  end  of  the  world  !  And  do  you  mean  to  walk 
there  every  day  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure,  aunt  I     And  in  your  company  the 


70  Misjudged. 


vray  will  not  seem  long,"  replied  Hilda,  plucking  at 
the  crochet  lace  which  was  spread  over  the  arm  of 
the  chair. 

Jussnitz  could  not  suppress  a  smile,  for  Aunt  Polly 
looked  anything  but  pleased  at  the  prospect  before 
her.  The  good  woman  did  not  know  whether  to 
laugh  or  be  angry  at  the  claims  made  upon  her. 
How  could  she — every  day — every  day  ?  Ah,  her 
time,  her  beautiful  leisure  time  ! 

"  But  just  consider,  child,"  she  began,  "  I  btg  of 
you  !  " 

"  Dear  aunt,"  replied  Hilda,  with  that  majestic 
air  that  had  imposed  silence  on  Frau  Berger  three 
days  before —  "  dear  aunt,  you  must  consider  that 
you  have  laid  upon  yourself  the  heavy  burden  of 
acting  as  chaperon  to  your  young  niece,  and  that 
nothing  is  left  for  you  but  to  bear  this  burden  as 
patiently  as  may  be." 

Aunt  Polly's  face  did  not  brighten  at  all  at  this 
speech  ;  she  only  flushed  crimson  with  anger.  This 
was  the  punishment  for  her  suspicion.  Hildegarde 
knew  very  well  how  to  revenge  herself. 

"  Every  day  ?  "  she  stammered,  helplessly. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Hilda,  shortly. 

"  I  want  to  have  the  picture  ready  for  the  Berlin 
Exhibition,"  added  Jussnitz. 

"  You  are  to  be  displayed  at  the  Exhibition  ? 
What  would  your  father  say  to  that  ?  " 

Aunt  Polly  clutched  at  the  first  straw  to  save 
herself. 

"  Aunt,  don't,  please  ;  you  do  not  understand," 
cried  the  young  girl,  excitedly,  turning  toward  the 
little  woman,  with  her  eyes  flashing. 


Misjudged,  71 

Jussnitz  thought  it  best  to  go.  Aunt  Polly  trippe«J 
out  to  light  the  hall  lamp. 

"  Why  did  you  not  come  yesterday  1 "  asked 
Hilda,  in  a  low  tone,  but  with  a  good  deal  of  im- 
petuosity. 

He  smiled  ;  he  liked  her  in  her  angry  excitement. 

"  I  was  detained  by  important  business,  just  as  I 
was  starting." 

"  Do  you  know  what  waiting  means  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Oh,  yes.     With  you  it  means " 

*'  Suffering  torture  !  "  interrupted  Hilda,  abruptly. 

He  knew  she  was  speaking  the  truth  ;  her  feverish 
eyes  gave  evidence  of  it. 

"  Good-by,  Herr  Jussnitz,  and  thank  you  for  the 
flowers,"  she  added. 

He  smiled  again.  "  And  what  if  I  did  not  de- 
serve your  thanks  ?  "  he  said. 

She  was  taken  aback  for  a  moment ;  then  she,  too, 
smiled.  Her  still  gloomy  face  looked  indescribably 
lovely. 

"  By  Jove,  I  don't  know  whether  I  had  not  bet- 
ter paint  you  with  smiling  lips,  after  all !  "  he  cried. 
And  when  she  gave  him  her  hand  he  pressed  it  to 
his  lips  and  murmured  :  "  Auf  wiedersehen  !  " 

Aunt  Polly  lighted  the  guest  down-stairs.  When 
she  came  back  to  remonstrate  with  her  niece,  the 
latter  had  left  the  room  and  fled  to  her  own  cham- 
ber. There  she  yielded  to  her  overstrained  nerves 
and  cried,  cried  as  if  her  heart  would  break. 

Aunt  Polly  stood  outside  and  demanded  to  be 
let  in,  in  vain  ;  at  last  she  went  back  to  the  parlor, 
shaking  her  head.  Good  Heavens  !  What  would 
come  of  it  ?     He  was  handsome  and  distinguished. 


7a 


Misjudged. 


and — one  could  never  tell — in  love  affairs  the  un- 
likeliest  things  sometimes  happened.  Well,  she 
shouldn't  grudge  it  to  the  Zweidorfs.  "  Ah,  Polly, 
Polly,"  she  said,  half-aloud,  "you  have  got  yourself 
into  a  pretty  mess  with  your  silly  good-nature. 
Well,  it  is  to  be  hoped  the  affair  will  soon  come  to 
a  good  end  I  " 


CHAPTER  V. 

An  open  carriage  coming  from  Dresden  dashed 
by  on  the  highway  at  full  speed.  It  was  a  dull  De- 
cember  day,  and  the  snow  was  coming  down  in  large 
flakes.  The  two  gentlemen  who  sat  in  the  carriage 
wrapped  in  furs  looked  like  snow-men,  so  thickly 
were  the  white  stars  scattered  over  their  coats.  Herr 
Jussnitz  had  just  met  at  the  station  his  friend  Wolf 
Maiberg,  who  had  come  direct  from  Hamburg.  Only 
a  few  days  before  he  had  arrived  there  on  the  steamer 
from  Rio  de  Janeiro,  and  had  come  to  spend  Christ- 
mas with  his  friend  Jussnitz. 

Leo  Jussnitz  looked  cross.  "  You  will  certainly 
take  cold,  Wolf,"  he  grumbled.  "  What  an  idea,  to 
want  to  drive  in  an  open  carriage  !  " 

"  If  you  are  afraid  of  freezing,  then  have  the 
carriage  shut  up,"  was  the  reply.  "  As  for  me,  it  is 
a  perfect  delight  to  be  able  to  breathe  snowy  air — 
German  snowy  air,  once  more,  Leo." 

And  the  man's  broad  breast  expanded,  he  drew 
in  such  a  long,  full  breath.  A  shadow  passed  over 
his  handsome,  strong  face,  the  sunburned  color  of 
which  contrasted  strangely  with  the  light  full  beard 
and  the  clear,  gray-blue  eyes,  as  Jussnitz  actually 
gave  orders  to  have  the  carriage  closed. 

"  It  is  a  pity,"  he  said  ;  "  this  wintry  landscape, 
the  white  roofs  of  the  villas  in  their  snowy  gardens 


74  Misjudged. 


make  such  a  pretty  picture.  You  can't  imagine,  Leo, 
how  delighted  I  was  when  I  saw  the  first  flakes  from 
the  window  of  the  train  to-day.  Such  a  feeling  of 
having  got  home  came  over  me  so  powerfully  that 


"  Oh,  for  Heaven's  sake,  Wolf,  you  will  see  plenty 
of  snow  now,  and  I  have  no  desire  to  get  a  cold  in 
my  head." 

Dr.  Maiberg,  struck  by  the  irritated  tone,  looked 
penetratingly  at  his  friend,  and  noticed  his  sharp- 
ened features,  pale  face,  and  dull  eyes. 

"  Are  you  not  well,  Leo  ?  "  he  asked,  anxiously. 

"  Oh,  don't  torment  me  with  questions  like  that, 
Wolf.  I  can't  possibly  look  as  I  did  eight  years 
ago. 

**  Of  course  not,  any  more  than  I  do — the  years 
will  write  their  lines  on  our  faces.  But  still  you 
might  look  well,  and  that  is  not  the  case.  You  look 
nervous." 

"  My  dear  Wolf,  you  are  on  the  lookout  for  a 
patient,"  said  Jussnitz,  with  an  angry  laugh. 

"  Heaven  forbid  I  On  the  contrary,  I  am  glad  for 
once  not  to  hear  any  complaints,  but  I  am  sorry  not 
to  find  you  as  well  as  I  had  hoped." 

"  I  thought  my  last  letter  might  have — "  began 
Jussnitz. 

*'  Yes,  to  be  sure — that  letter.  I  could  see  from 
that  that  you  were  not  quite  up  to  the  mark.  It  was 
a  jumble  of  complaints  and  self-congratulations,  of 
good  and  bad — you  were  not  at  your  best  when  you 
wrote  it,  Leo.  But  just  look,  there  is  a  wagon  full 
of  Christmas  trees,"  said  Maiberg,  suddenly  inter- 
rupting himself  and  pomting  with  a  smile  lo  the  cart 


Misjudged,  f  j 


which  drove  by  as  fast  as  its  heavy  burden  would 
allow,  filling  the  air  with  a  resinous  odor  of  fir-trees. 

"  They  are  all  going  to  Santa  Claus,"  said  Jussnitz. 
"  But  don't  get  excited,  Wolf ;  you  shall  have  a 
Christmas  tree ;  only,  for  Heaven's  sake,  don't  let 
us  be  sentimental." 

"  I  ?  I  haven't  the  slightest  leaning  in  that  direc- 
tion, Leo.  I  was  only  trying  to  avoid  a  sentimental 
conversation  that  seemed  to  have  been  burning  on 
your  tongue  ever  since  we  met.  You  are  aching  to 
free  your  mind  to  me,  old  fellow,  and  I  will  not  give 
you  a  chance  to  do  it.  I  would  rather  see  and  judge 
for  myself.  I  am  convinced  that  it  is  not  half  so 
bad  as  you  try  to  make  out.  You  always  used  to 
exaggerate." 

"  You  are  still  of  the  opinion,  then,  that  only  that 
man  is  happy  who  believes  himself  to  be  so  ?  * 

"  Quite  right,  that  is  still  my  opinion  ;  for  it  is  not 
the  circumstance  itself,  but  only  the  way  we  take  it, 
that  makes  all  our  trouble.  Who  is  it  that  has  said 
the  same  thing  ?  Well,  no  matter,  it  is  true,  at  all 
events." 

"  My  mother-in-law  is  on  a  visit  to  us  now,"  said 
Jussnitz,  laconically. 

The  other  laughed  heartily.  "  Ah,  there  are  vine- 
yards, Leo !  Have  you  anything  so  delightful  on 
your  place  ?  " 

"  Yes,  there  are  vineyards  belonging  to  Sibyllen- 
burg,"  replied  Jussnitz. 

"  Then  you  will  offer  me  a  draught  of  wine  from 
your  own  press  at  the  gate  of  your  castle,  Leo  ?  '* 

"Unfortunately,  I  do  not  make  my  own  wine.  I 
have  let  the  vineyard — it  is  too  heavy  a  wine  for  me 


76  Misjudged. 


It  is  a  pity,  Wolf,  for  you  would  no  doubt  take  the 
Sibyllenburg  wine  for  genuine  Rudesheinier  or  Jo- 
hannisberger,  thanks  to  your  gift  for  seeing,  tasting, 
and  feeling  things  as  you  expect  to  find  them." 

"  Now  you  seem  to  be  recovering,  Leo,  so  tell  me 
about  your  painting.  Have  you  finished  your  pict- 
ure of  the  beautiful  Baroness  ?  " 

"  No,  I  have  had  something  more  important  on 
hand,  and  she  has  been  away  for  a  long  time,  too,' 

"  More  important  ? "  inquired  Wolf  Maiberg, 
stooping  to  pick  up  a  small  packet  that  Jussnitz 
had  pulled  out  of  his  pocket  as  he  took  out  his 
handkerchief.  The  carelessly  folded  paper  dis- 
played a  pale  blue  plush  //«;,  which  had  sprung 
open  and  revealed  a  glittering  object,  giving  out 
all  the  colors  of  the  rainbow.  The  young  doctor 
opened  the  case  to  its  full  extent. 

"  You  see,  Leo,  curiosity  is  still  my  great  weak- 
ness," he  said  with  a  smile,  as  he  examined  the 
ornament.  It  was  a  very  small  brooch  in  the  shape 
of  a  clover-leaf,  but  the  three  stones  which  com- 
posed it  were  exceedingly  costly — a  ruby,  a  dia- 
mond, and  a  sapphire.  Nevertheless,  the  little  pin 
had  an  air  of  simplicity ;  none  but  a  connoisseur 
would  have  understood  its  real  value. 

"Very  pretty,  Leo,"  said  Maiberg.  "Is  that 
your  wife's  taste  ?  A  little  brooch  like  that  looks  to 
me  more  suited  to  a  young  girl." 

Jussnitz  took  the  //«/  and  put  it  back  in  his 
pocket.  "It  is  the  fashion  just  now,  that  sort  of 
thing,"  he  said.  "  Besides,  you  know  this  is  Christ- 
naas-time.'* 

"  Yes,  it  is  charming,  this  tiaae,  with  all  its  little 


Misjudged.  77 

mysteries.  You  are  a  lucky  fellow  to  be  able  to 
make  such  presents,  and  especially  when  you  know 
you  will  attain  your  object  of  giving  pleasure." 

Leo  Jussnitz  muttered  something  unintelligible. 
His  friend  paid  no  attention  to  it ;  his  face,  which 
had  been  so  cheerful  before,  had  now  grown  grave. 

"  I  wanted  to  make  a  present  of  just  such  shin- 
ing stones  once,"  continued  Maiberg.  "  It  was  two 
years  ago.  I  had  been  saving  up  for  it  for  months, 
and  it  gave  me  great  pleasure  when  I  pictured  to 
myself  how  a  certain  pair  of  dark  eyes  would  shine 
as  they  looked  at  the  sparkling  stones.  I  was  just 
putting  the  itui  in  a  bouquet  of  pomegranate  blos- 
soms, to  send  it  to  its  destination,  when  the  post- 
man came  and  brought  me  a  letter — and  I  did  not 
send  off  the  brooch.  The  person  for  whom  it  was 
intended  wrote  to  me  that  she  thought  it  would  be 
better  for  her  not  to  join  her  fate  to  mine,  and  that 
in  accordance  with  her  parents'  wishes  she  had  en- 
gaged herself  to  the  owner  of  a  hacienda  which  was 
one  of  the  largest  and  richest  in  all  Brazil.  I  threw 
the  pomegranate  blossoms  out  of  the  window  and 
locked  up  the  brooch  in  my  writing-desk.  How 
could  I  ever  have  imagined  that  a  woman  would 
share  my  toilsome  lot?  It  is  quite  another  thing 
when  one  has  a  husband  who  can  put  carriages, 
villas,  and  yachts  at  one's  disposal." 

"You  never  wrote  me  that  you  were  engaged. 
Wolf,"  said  Leo.  "Why  did  you  not  comfort  your> 
self  with  some  one  else  ?  Good  Heavens,  there 
must  be  plenty  of  girls,  and  rich  girls  too,  even  in 
that  part  of  the  world." 

"  I  loved  her." 


riri'ii  ■mtiiir  in"  "•^^'•■■■■- -■■-     ' 


78  Misjudged. 


"  And  do  you  love  her  still  ?  " 

"  I  have  got  over  it  now,  Leo,  and  I  have  come 
here  to  look  for  a  wife,  a  good  woman,  a  German 
woman.  Do  you  know — such  a  woman  as  my 
mother  was — can  you  remember  her?  Always 
pleasant,  kindly,  and  with  a  sound  understanding ; 
for  anything  more,  Leo,  is  superfluous  in  a  woman 
who  is  to  be  always  with  us  in  good  days  and  evil 
days.  I  want  a  cheerful  face,  a  quiet  manner, 
when  I  come  home  tired  from  my  work.  I  do  not 
want  a  brilliant,  intellectual  woman,  who  would 
insist  on  my  dressing  and  following  her  about  to 
operas  and  balls.  I  don't  like  that  sort  of  thing,  and 
I  thank  Heaven  that  I  have  been  preserved  from 
that  fate.  Is  that  tall  gable  over  there  Sibyllen- 
burg  ? " 

"  No,  that  is  Baroness  Erlach's  house.  Sibyllen- 
burg  is  rococo,  purest  rococo.  You  will  see  it  at  the 
next  turning." 

"  I  am  very  curious  about  your  home,  Leo,  and 
your  wife  and  child." 

"  You  will  hardly  see  Antje  unless  you  go  down 
into  the  kitchen.  We  have  some  guests  coming  this 
evening,  and  so " 

"  What  ?     Guests  this  evening  ?  " 

"  Will  it  disturb  you.  Wolf  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no  ;  not  at  all.  Only  I  had  been  looking 
forward  to  an  evening  when  we  two  might  talk  over 
old  times  over  a  glass  of  wine,  and " 

"  Oh,  let  the  old  times  go ;  the  very  memory  of 
them  makes  me  miserable,"  said  Jussnitz.  "'But 
here  we  are." 

The  carriage  had  turned  in  at  an  iron  gateway  and 


Misjudged.  75 


presently  stopped  before  a  low  flight  of  steps  roofed 
over  with  glass.  A  young  lady  was  standing  in  the 
lofty  open  doorway,  above  which  two  genii  in  flut- 
tering garments  with  flying  ribbons  were  holding  up 
a  coat-of-arms.  It  was  already  dusk  ;  the  light  which 
was  shed  over  the  hall  from  a  lamp  hanging  from 
the  ceiling  fell  on  the  golden  hair  of  a  beautifully 
shaped  head.  Wolf  could  not  distinguish  the  feat- 
ures plainly  ;  he  only  saw  a  pair  of  large  eyes  look- 
ing out  of  a  white  face,  and  he  thought  the  whole 
figure,  as  she  stood  there  in  her  dark  dress  with 
a  dazzling  white  apron,  and  a  key-basket  on  her 
arm,  was  full  of  a  homely  grace.  A  low,  pleasant 
voice  sounded  in  his  ear. 

"  You  are  welcome,  Herr  Doctor.  I  am  so  glad  to 
see  Leo's  best  friend." 

Wolf  felt  as  if  at  this  moment  he  had  come  into 
the  home  atmosphere  for  the  first  time,  the  German 
atmosphere  for  which  he  had  so  longed.  He  felt 
greatly  moved,  and  he  silently  pressed  the  young 
wife's  hand  to  his  lips.  He  could  not  find  suitable 
words  in  which  to  reply  to  her,  and  without  speak- 
ing he  followed  his  friend's  wife  into  the  house. 

So  this  was  the  woman  who  made  Leo  so  unhappy  ? 
She  had  bent  her  head  for  her  husband's  kiss,  and 
replied  to  his  question  as  to  whether  Wolf's  room 
was  ready,  that  she  hoped  their  guest  would  find 
everything  as  he  liked  it.  And  with  a  pleasant  nod 
she  said  to  the  latter  :  '^Auf  wiedersehen,  Herr  Doc- 
tor !  "  Then  she  disappeared,  with  the  jingling 
basket  on  her  arm,  through  the  tall  folding-doors 
that  opened  into  the  dining-room. 

Wolf  stood  looking  after  her.     "  Her  manner  is 


8a  Misjudged. 


perfect !  "  he  murmured,  as  the  door  closed  behind 
the  slender  figure.  He  walked  slowly  toward  the 
carpeted  staircase,  as  Leo,  who  thought  his  friend 
was  following  him,  called  back  :  "  Where  are  you. 
Wolf  ?     This  way,  please  !  " 

He  went  into  Leo's  sitting-room  and  passed  through 
the  studio.  In  spite  of  the  early  hour,  it  was  all 
brilliantly  lighted,  and  had  a  rich  look,  almost  too 
magnificent,  perhaps.  The  chamber  which  was 
assigned  to  him  was  exceedingly  comfortable  and 
only  too  elegantly  furnished.  There  were  rugs  scat- 
tered about,  bear-skins,  and  costly  articles  of  luxury 
everywhere. 

"  Make  yourself  comfortable,  Wolf  ;  a  cup  of  tea 
or  a  glass  of  wine  is  quite  at  your  disposal.  You 
need  not  make  a  great  toilet.  Our  guests  will  be 
here  in  an  hour  and  I  will  come  to  fetch  you." 

Dr.  Maiberg  was  alone.  He  had  dismissed  the  ser- 
vant who  brought  in  his  trunk  and  offered  his  ser- 
vices in  unpacking  it.  He  must  be  ready  in  an  hour, 
so  he  had  not  very  much  time.  He  sat  down  on  the 
sofa  and  looked  about  the  room.  He  must  first  of 
all  get  accustomed  to  the  idea  of  being  Leo's  guest. 
How  often  that  had  been  the  case  in  those  earlier 
days  !  Then  he  had  sat  opposite  one  of  the  gayest 
of  mortals,  in  a  plain,  cane-bottomed  chair,  before 
the  plainest  table  imaginable.  Colors,  papers,  pen- 
cils, and  all  sorts  of  painting  apparatus  were  tossed 
about  in  the  wildest  confusion,  and  in  the  midst 
of  it  all  a  tin  tea-kettle  was  singing  gayly.  The 
little  black  stove  in  the  corner  of  the  white-washed 
room  was  cold,  for  the  fire  was  only  made  once  a 
day,   and    before   the   curtainless   window  of  the 


%. 


Misjudged,  8i 


attic  room  the  neighbor's  cat  ran  across  the  roof 
and  wondered  that  the  two  men  within  could  laugh 
so  heartily  in  spite  of  the  poverty,  the  cold,  and  the 
sour  wine. 

What  had  happened  to  J.jo  ?  Dr.  Maiberg  drew 
his  hand  hastily  across  his  forehead.  The  beauti- 
ful, slender  figure  of  his  young  wife  rose  before  his 
eyes — was  she  really  such  a  nonentity  as  Leo  made 
her  out  ?  Poor  fellow — if  it  really  were  so  !  It 
must  be  horrible  to  live  in  a  constant  struggle  with 
pettiness  and  narrowness,  horrible  for  any  man,  but 
most  of  all  for  an  artist.  He  pictured  to  himself  the 
results  of  this  want  of  character.  How  horrible  to 
have  a  wife  who  did  nothing  but  wash  and  cook  and 
bake,  who  simply  by  her  presence  drove  away  the 
graces  and  all  poetry.  Leo's  letter  had  made  him 
more  anxious  than  he  had  been  willing  to  acknowl- 
edge to  his  friend.  Thank  Heaven,  her  appearance^ 
at  least,  was  by  no  means  prosaic  !  She  had  seemed 
10  him  like  one  of  those  beautiful  womanly  figures 
that  Beyschlag  paints  so  charmingly.  Could  the 
mind  really  be  so  great  a  contradiction  of  the  ex- 
terior ? 

Presently  he  drew  a  long  breath  as  he  went 
up  to  the  table,  and  with  an  expression  of  emotion 
looked  at  a  shallow  glass  dish  in  which  some  pine- 
branches  and  Christmas  roses  were  gracefully  ar- 
ranged. 

"That  could  have  been  no  one  y^MX.  her ;  no 
servant  would  ever  have  dreamed  of  that!"  he 
said  under  his  breath,  and  he  had  a  vision  of  her  as 
she  stood  there  arranging  the  flowers.  That  cer- 
tainly did  not  look  like  a  prosaic  nature,  to  offer 


L-,. 


62  Misjudged 


home-flowers  as  a  friendly  greeting  to  the  stranger 
from  a  foreign  land  ! 

The  comfortable  home-feeling  he  had  had  on  his 
arrival  came  over  him  with  renewed  force  ;  but  then 
it  suddenly  occurred  to  him  that  he  was  in  a  fair 
way  to  commit  a  gross  sin  of  omission — he  certainly 
ought,  before  he  appeared  among  the  other  guests, 
to  pay  his  respects  to  the  hostess.  He  finished 
dressing  as  quickly  as  possible,  and  then  requested 
a  servant  to  announce  him  to  Frau  Jussnitz.  The 
man  came  back  in  three  minutes  to  say  that  his 
mistress  regretted  extremely  not  to  be  able  to 
receive  the  Herr  Doctor,  as  she  was  occupied  in 
the  nursery  at  present. 

Leo,  who  entered  a  moment  after  the  servant, 
laughed  shortly,  as  he  threw  himself  down  on  the 
sofa,  at  the  queer  mixture  of  disappointment  and 
resignation  plainly  expressed  on  the  doctor's 
face. 

"  Don't  take  it  to  heart,  Wolf,"  he  said,  as  the 
servant  left  the  room  *'  The  nursery  is  the  barrier 
which  my  wife  erects  to  enable  her  to  escape  all 
social  duties." 

"  Well,  a  nursery  is  a  better  barrier  than  the  cus- 
tomary headache,"  said  Wolf,  carelessly.  "  There  is 
some  reason  in  that  excuse." 

"  Not  in  my  opinion.  This  eternal  nursery  looks 
like  obstinacy  to  me." 

"  Perhaps  you  are  too  severe  in  your  judgment, 
Leo,  As  a  physician,  I  know  how  to  prize  the  fre- 
quent presence  of  a  mother  in  her  nursery." 

"  Her  frequent  presence  and — a  settling  down 
there  for  good  and  all  are  two  very  different  things, 


Misjudged.  85 


my  dear  fellow.     My  wife  has  trustworthy  people 
in  her  employ,  but — nowadays " 

"  Good  Heavens,  Leo,  you  seem  to  consider  that 
a  fault  for  which  other  men  are  grateful ! "  cried 
Wolf,  in  the  attempt  to  soften  his  friend's  judgment. 
"Count  yourself  happy  in  possessing  a  wife  who 
has  a  sense  of  duty  which  is  rare  enough  in  these 
days.  Confound  it,  Leo,  you  seem  determined  to 
make  yourself  miserable.  Is  this  gloomy  temper 
all  you  have  gained  in  exchange  for  your  former 
condition  of  care  and  anxiety  ?  You  live  in  a 
palace  like  a  fairy  dream,  and  make  yourself  un- 
happy over  the  merest  trifles — or  is  this  an  especially 
bad  day  with  you  ?  Perhaps  your  liver  is  troubling 
you.  I  must  direct  my  attention  to  it ;  it  may  be 
so.  If  that  is  the  case,  you  might  be  set  down  in 
the  midst  of  paradise  itself,  and  you  would  still 
grumble." 

"  Nonsense,  Wolf,  nonsense  !  "  said  Jussnitz,  put- 
ting out  his  hands  in  self-defence,  as  the  doctor 
playfully  attempted  to  feel  his  liver.  "Only  stay 
here  for  a  week  and  then  you  will  think  differently. 
But  let  us  talk  of  something  more  agreeable.  It  is 
nearly  six  o'clock  now  ;  we  will  go  to  the  reception 
rooms.  The  guests  will  soon  be  there,  but  Antje 
will  be  sure  not  to  appear  until  the  Baroness  has 
already  looked  round  for  the  hostess  with  her  most 
malicious  smile." 

They  descended  a  small  winding  staircase  which 
led  directly  from  the  studio  into  the  billiard-room, 
passed  through  the  dining-room,  and  entered  the 
reception-room,  which  was  furnished  with  princely 
magnificence.  Wolf  opened  his  eyes  in   surprise; 


%4  Misjudged. 


he  glanced  from  the  wonderfully  preserved  frescos 
of  the  ceiling,  portraying  the  triumph  of  Venus  and 
framed  in  richly  gilded  stucco,  over  the  walls  hung 
with  yellow  silk,  over  the  mirror-like  parquet,  the 
rich  hangings  which  covered  the  doors  and  win- 
dows, over  the  innumerable  chairs,  stools,  and  sofas 
— all  gilded  in  the  purest  rococo  style.  Really,  it 
was  all  quite  perfect,  like  a  saloon  in  the  Trianon. 
But  the  smile  on  the  doctor's  face  was  no  longer  free 
from  discomfort.  "  Strange,"  he  thought  to  him- 
self. **  I  had  looked  foward  to  such  a  very  different 
evening.  As  we  drove  here,  I  pictured  to  myself 
a  very  comfortable  room,  in  which  there  was  no 
lack  of  artistic  decorations.  I  saw  a  white  tea- 
table,  around  which  sat  three  persons  calling  up 
the  memory  of  old  times.  Now  here  I  am  in  this 
state  apartment — and " 

His  thoughts  were  interrupted  by  the  clock  on  the 
mantelpiece  striking  six.  At  that  moment  a  lady 
came  in  through  the  o^enportihrej  her  golden  head 
was  turned  as  if  she  were  looking  once  more  at  the 
arrangement  of  the  table  in  the  dining-room.  Wolf 
was  struck  dumb.  This  slender,  wonderfully  lovely 
figure,  in  her  black  moir^  dress  with  a  white  fichu 
over  her  shoulders,  which  was  crossed  on  the  breast 
and  carried  round  the  waist,  ending  in  a  loose  knot 
behind,  as  Marie  Antoinette  was  fond  of  wearing  it 
— this  figure  in  its  elegant  simplicity  was  absolutely 
striking  against  this  brilliant  background. 

She  came  up  to  Wolf  with  a  Hght  step,  and  hold- 
ing out  her  hand  and  looking  earnestly  at  the  young 
physician  with  a  pair  of  eyes  of  whose  "  apparently 
unfathomable  depths  "  Leo  had  certainly  not  said 


Misjudged.  85 


too  much,  she  begged  him  to  excuse  her  for  not 
having  received  him,  as  she  was  "just  giving  her 
baby  a  bath." 

"  My  poor  wife  is  obliged  to  do  that  herself  ;  she 
has  no  servants,"  said  Leo,  ironically. 

"  Not  at  all,"  was  her  quiet  reply.  "  I  like  to  do 
it,  and — especially  since  the  nurse  nearly  killed  the 
child  once." 

"  Pray  do  not  give  us  any  reminiscences  of  that 
kind,  my  dear  !  "  cried  Leo. 

She  turned  toward  him.  "  Mamma  wished  me 
to  ask  you  to  excuse  her  for  this  evening.  She  does 
not  feel  very  well." 

"  I  did  not  suppose  your  mother  would  dine  with 
us,"  he  replied. 

She  looked  quietly  at  her  husband.  "  And  where 
should  mamma  dine,  if  not  with  us  ? "  she  asked. 

Wolf  thought  he  saw  the  soft,  pale  face  quiver,  and 
it  cut  him  to  the  heart. 

"  Oh,  good  Heavens,"  muttered  Leo,  **  we  are  all 
young  people.  I  thought  it  would  be  a  bore  to  her, 
and  would  tire  her  besides." 

"  My  mother — bored 2  She  who  is  so  fond  of 
young  people  ? " 

And  with  a  deep  flush  she  turned  to  the  fire- 
place to  push  back  a  burning  log  that  had  fallen 
too  far  forward. 

"She  never  can  understand,"  muttered  Leo,  an- 
grily, as  he  disappeared  into  the  adjoining  room, 
a  small  boudoir,  whose  brown  gold-stamped  leather 
hangings  made  a  very  effective  contrast  to  the  glit- 
tering gold  of  the  reception-room. 

Antje  took    some    time    to    get   the    refractory 


86  Misjudged. 


beechen  log  back  into  its  proper  place,  and  to  force 
back  the  customary  two  tears  which  had  come  into 
her  eyes.  Now  for  the  first  time  she  understood  her 
mother's  refusal  to  join  the  party — Leo  had,  no 
doubt,  made  it  very  clear  to  her  that  he  did  not 
desire  her  presence.  Antje  felt  as  much  hurt  as 
if  it  had  been  a  personal  slight  to  herself.  What 
would  this  stranger  think  of  it  ? 

When  she  turned  round  the  latter  was  standing 
with  his  back  to  her,  before  a  large  picture  of  two 
little  naked  cupids  crowned  with  vine-leaves,  play- 
ing about  a  very  peaceably  disposed  panther. 

"  How  exquisitely  the  rosy  flesh  of  the  little 
cupid  is  painted,"  he  said.  "Just  look,  Frau  Juss- 
nitz,  at  the  dimples  in  that  little  fat  hand ;  isn't  it 
delightful  ?  " 

She  came  up  to  him,  a  lovely  sad  smile  on  her 
pale  face. 

"  Yes,  it  is,"  she  said  ;  "  the  hand  is  so  perfectly 
drawn,  just  like  that  of  my  little  Leonie."  As  she 
spoke  the  sad  smile  faded. 

"  May  I  come  to  see  the  child  to-morrow  ? "  he 
asked  earnestly. 

She  assented  eagerly. 

"Yes,  Herr  Doctor,  please  do  !  I  will  have  her 
brought  to  my  room,  for  I  hope  to-morrow  you  will 
pay  me  the  visit  I  missed  to-day  ?  " 

"  I  hope  I  may  be  received  in  the  young  lady's 
own  room,"  he  replied,  looking  in  her  face  with  a 
kindly  smile  in  his  blue  eyes ;  adding :  "  After  I 
have  paid  my  respects  to  her  mamma  in  her  room, 
where  I  shall  hope  to  be  presented  to  your  mother." 

His  kind  words  seemed  to  her  like  a  soothing 


Misjudged.  87 


balm  poured  on  an  open  wound  to  quiet  the  pain^ 
and  which  yet  occasioned  more  pain  than  if  the 
wound  had  been  left  untouched. 

"  My  mother  will  be  very  glad  to  see  you,"  she 
replied,  more  coldly,  and  then  she  turned  quickly  to 
meet  a  lady,  who,  accompanied  by  an  immensely 
tall,  light-haired  man,  had  just  fluttered  in.  Wolf 
could  not  think  of  any  more  fitting  word  to  express 
her  movements.  There  was  really  something  but- 
terfly-like in  the  appearance  of  the  slender,  almost 
too  slender,  brunette.  She  wore  a  white  gown 
which  was  made  with  a  sort  of  blouse  waist  with 
wide,  pufifed  sleeves,  and  an  impossibly  narrow 
skirt,  ending  in  a  long  train,  and  was  exceedingly 
becoming  to  the  wearer.  Above  the  very  high 
collar,  which  was  held  together  by  small  diamond 
pins,  rose  a  pretty  head  with  hair  cut  short,  a 
youthful  style  which  gave  a  droll  look  to  the  little 
ears  with  their  diamond  drops.  Her  face  was  pale, 
and  was  lighted  up  by  dark  eyes,  half  gay,  half 
languishing.  The  nose  was  very  short  and  straight ; 
the  scarlet  lips  seemed  constantly  smiling,  for  no 
reason  except  to  display  two  rows  of  sharp,  white, 
very  irregular  teeth,  which  were  really  charming. 
In  her  hand  she  held  a  round  fan  with  a  long 
handle  on  which  was  painted  a  little  rococo  picture. 

"  I  entreat  you,  dear  Frau  Jussnitz,"  she  cried, 
"to  put  my  cousin  at  the  very  farthest  end  of  the 
table  this  evening.  He  was  so  excessively  naughty 
on  the  way  here  that  I  would  rather  forget  his 
presence  entirely."  As  she  spoke  she  gave  the 
blond  giant,  who  smilingly  stroked  his  light  beard, 
^  S^y  glance  from  her  dark  eyes. 


&S  Misjudged. 


Jussnitz  introduced  his  friend.  Before  Wolf  could 
exchange  the  customary  polite  phrases  with  the 
Baroness,  ten  or  twelve  gentlemen  had  come  in, 
some  of  whom  were  in  uniform,  others  in  civilian 
dress. 

The  Baroness  and  Antje  were  the  only  ladies 
p.-esent.  The  former,  seating  herself  on  a  sofa,  had 
instantly  the  whole  crowd  of  men  around  her. 

Wolf,  who  had  looked  round  for  Antje,  discov- 
ered the  young  wife  in  the  adjoining  room,  where 
she  was  giving  orders  to  a  servant.  In  a  few  min- 
utes she  returned  and  seated  herself  on  the  outer 
edge  of  the  circle,  as  if  she  did  not  belong  to  it,  her 
eyes  looking  absently  into  the  distance.  Wolf  drew 
his  chair  up  beside  her  and  tried  to  enter  into  con- 
versation with  her  by  beginning  to  talk  about  his 
travels.  She  looked  at  him  attentively  as  he  spoke, 
but  she  did  not  utter  a  word  in  reply.  When  he 
had  minutely  described  a  Christmas  eve  in  Rio 
without  eliciting  a  single  remark,  he  ceased  speak- 
ing ;  he  was  tired  from  his  journey  and  he  was  glad 
to  be  quiet. 

She  did  not  seem  to  notice  his  silence.  The 
laugh  of  the  little  Baroness,  which  was  invariably 
followed  by  a  shout  of  laughter  from  the  gentlemen, 
sounded  frequently  through  the  room. 

"  You  are  in  a  gay  mood,  even  before  dinner, 
Baroness,"  said  a  youthful  cavalry  officer.  "  What 
will  you  be  afterward  ?  " 

"  I  always  am,  my  dear  Osten,  when  I  have  been 
really  vexed,"  replied  the  Baroness,  as,  still  laugh- 
ing, she  put  her  hand  on  the  arm  of  the  host,  to  go 
in  to  dinner.     As  she  passed  out,  she  turned  her 


Misjudged.  89 


head  and  looked  across  at  her  cousin,  and  quick  as 
a  flash  the  tip  of  her  Httle  tongue  appeared  between 
her  red  Hps,  and  the  saucy  face  under  the  short  hair 
looked  surprisingly  like  that  of  a  naughty  boy. 

"  Incredible  ! "  murmured  the  blond  giant,  with 
an  expression  of  infinite  amusement.     .     .     . 

Antje  sat  at  the  head  of  the  table ;  on  her  right 
was  Maiberg  ;  on  her  left  an  elderly  painter  with 
long  hair  and  an  interesting  but  rather  peevish-look- 
ing thin  face,  who  was  inwardly  wondering  why  he, 
who  really  had  accomplished  something  in  the 
world,  must  be  forced  to  starve,  while  this  fool  of 
a  Jussnitz  had  been  wrapped  by  fate  in  silk  and 
velvet.  These  observations,  however,  did  not  pre- 
vent him  from  enjoying  his  oysters  very  much. 

The  Baroness  had  at  once  monopolized  the  con- 
versation ;  her  clear,  bell-like  voice  was  heard  con- 
tinually above  the  laughter  of  the  men ;  she  seemed 
to  be  in  particularly  good  humor  to-day. 

Antje  looked  scrutinizingly  at  the  table  once  or 
twice,  and  as  she  found  everything  in  faultless  order, 
from  the  richly  embroidered  table-cloth  of  the  same 
design  as  the  china  to  the  silver  epergne  filled  with 
flowers,  she  seemed  to  take  no  more  notice  of  what 
was  going  on.  She  drooped  her  lashes  and  broke 
off  small  morsels  of  her  bread,  which  she  put  me- 
chanically between  her  lips.  One  of  her  neighbors 
was  entirely  absorbed  in  his  dinner ;  Maiberg,  on 
the  other  hand,  watched  her  with  discreet  curiosity, 
without  addressing  her.  She  had  such  a  lovely, 
pale  face,  but  her  expression  was  no  longer  sad, 
only  indifferent.  When  the  Baroness's  frequent 
laugh  came  to  her  ears  she  raised  her  eyes  for  p 


90  Misjudged. 

moment  as  if  startled,  and  then  sank  back  into  her 
apathy. 

**  Osten  and  I  want  to  spend  this  Christmas  at 
Barrenberg,"  said  Frau  von  Erlach's  cousin. 

"  They  are  like  Hans  who  wanted  to  learn  to 
ehiver,"  cried  the  Baroness  ;  "  they  want  to  see  the 
White  Lady  of  Barrenberg." 

"  Barrenberg  is  an  old  castle  on  the  other  side 
of  the  Elbe,  which  belongs  to  Frau  von  Erlach's 
cousin.  The  colonel  stays  there  sometimes  in  sum- 
mer and  autumn,  but  at  Christmas  time — in  fact, 
all  winter — it  is  always  empty.  For  many  years 
the  occupants  have  deserted  the  castle  at  this  time 
of  year  because,  as  people  say,  the  White  Lady 
'  walks '  there  then.  They  say  a  Barrenberg  once 
stabbed  his  brother  there  on  Christmas  eve  for  the 
sake  of  a  beautiful  woman." 

This  explanation  was  given  to  Maiberg,  in  reply 
to  his  request  for  information,  by  his  next  neighbor. 

"My  belief  is,  however,"  added  his  informant, 
smiling,  **  that  this  desertion  of  the  old  barrack  at 
this  time  of  year  is  not  occasioned  so  much  by  the 
White  Lady  as  by  the  charms  of  Dresden." 

"  I  would  give  anything  to  see  the  ghost,"  said 
Frau  von  Erlach. 

"You  can  if  you  like,  cousin,"  said  Barrenberg. 
"  I  hereby  invite  you." 

*'  But  who  else  will  you  ask  ? " 

"Well,  what  if  all  who  are  here  now  were  to 
celebrate  Christmas  eve  in  the  old  banquet-hall  ? " 
cried  Barrenberg. 

"  It  is  to  be  hoped  there  will  be  snow,  and  then 
it  will  be  more  romantic,"  said  a  well-known  land- 


Misjudged.  9* 


scape  painter.  **  The  yellow  light  of  the  candles 
will  stream  out  into  the  deserted  court-yard,  and  we 
will  stand  at  the  window  and  see  the  figure  of  the 
White  Lady  coming  across  the  snow  through  the 
arched  gateway  of  the  little  garden — and  the  traces 
of  her  footsteps  will  be  plainly  visible  in  the 
snow " 

"And,"  interrupted  the  Baroness,  "we  will  put 
out  the  lights,  and  we  shall  see  the  figure  come  into 
the  hall  and  glide  past  us  with  eyes  cast  down — it 
makes  my  heart  beat  just  to  think  of  it.  So,  is  it  a 
bargain,  good  people  ? " 

"But  what  will  become  of  your  two  cadets, 
cousin  ? "  cried  Barrenberg,  gayly.  "  You  can't 
possibly  burden  their  youthful  spirits  with  ghostly 
adventures  like  that,  and  besides " 

"  They  would  be  in  the  way,  cousin,  I  know  that. 
They  will  stay  at  home,  of  course." 

"  Alone,  on  Christmas  Day  ? "  cried  Lieutenant 
Osten.  "  Do  you  know,  Baroness,  if  my  mother  had 
treated  me  like  that — I " 

"  Well  ? "  inquired  the  beautiful  woman,  drinking 
off  a  glass  of  champagne. 

"  Well — I  should  have  been  very  much  surprised, 
to  say  the  least,"  said  Osten,  quietly. 

"  My  boys  can  be  that  too,  if  they  like,"  she 
replied,  ''They  can  have  their  presents  the  next 
day.  To  comfort  them  for  my  absence  I  will  give 
them  a  big  box  of  bonbons  and  cakes,  and 
then " 

"  You  will  ruin  their  digestion,"  remarked  Mai- 
berg,  dryly. 

"Dear  me,  Herr  Doctor,"  sighed  the  Baroness, 


93  Misjudged. 


"  that  wouldn't  be  the  worst  thing  that  could  hap- 
pen. Then  they  would  be  a  little  subdued,  at  least, 
during  the  vacation,  and  wouldn't  be  so  horribly 
loud  and  overpowering." 

She  said  this  with  such  a  melancholy  air  that  the 
effect  was  irresistibly  droll,  and  Baron  Barrenberg 
took  up  his  glass. 

"  I  dedicate  this  glass  to  the  most  affectionate  of 
mothers  !  So  here's  to  a  nice  little  colic  for  your 
sons,  Irene,  for  the  soothing  of  your  nerves." 

The  Baroness  clinked  her  glass  with  his.  "A 
merry  meeting,  gentlemen,  at  Barrenberg  on  Christ- 
mas eve,"  she  cried.  "  I  will  coax  the  White  Lady 
to  stop  and  chat  with  us.  I  will  wager  she  will  tell 
us  some  delightful  stories." 

The  colonel  rose  and  gallantly  approached  the 
young  hostess  with  his  glass.  "  May  I  venture  to 
hope,  Frau  Jussnitz,  that  you  will  not  refuse  my 
invitation  ?  " 

"  I  hope  you  will  excuse  me,  Herr  von  Barren- 
berg, but  I  must  spend  Christmas  eve  at  home 
with  my  mother  and  my  child,"  she  replied,  very 
decidedly  and  very  coldly. 

He  bowed  and  returned  to  his  seat. 

Leo  looked  uneasily  from  his  wife  to  the  colonel. 

"  A  rejection,  Jussnitz,  a  downright  rejection 
from  your  wife." 

"Ah,  bah  !  "  replied  the  host,  carelessly.  "  If  I 
persuade  her  she  will  come  too — won't  you,  Antje  ?  " 

But  Antje  did  not  seem  to  have  heard  him  ;  she 
was  again  absently  looking  down  at  her  glass,  in 
which  the  champagne  had  long  ceased  to  bubble. 

With  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders,  Jussnitz  turned  to 


Misjudged.  93 


his  neighbor.     The   Baroness  was  already  in  the 
midst  of  a  droll  story. 

"But  I  assure  you,  these  diamonds"  —  she 
pointed  to  the  glittering  stones  of  a  bracelet  that 
Jussnitz  had  probably  been  admiring — "  were  buried 
once  for  eleven  years.  Would  you  like  to  hear 
about  it  ?  It  is  quite  a  pendant  for  Chamisso's 
poem  about  woman's  faith." 

"It  must  be  very  interesting;  so  pray  go  on,  tell 
the  story  ! "  the  guests  cried  in  chorus. 

"  I  suppose  you  have  all  heard  of  my  late  Uncle 
Wittelstein  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure,  the  man  with  seven  wives." 

"  Oh,  nonsense  !  It  was  only  four  !  Don't  exag- 
gerate, Osten  !  "  she  said,  reprovingly.  "  Well,  the 
aforesaid  uncle  had  lost  two  wives  while  he  was 
still  quite  young,  for  after  he  had  mourned  for  the 
first  three  years,  he  got  engaged  again.  The  bride 
or  the  wife,  for  the  time  being,  was  in  his  eyes 
always  the  loveliest  one  he  had  ever  had.  This 
third  one  he  considered  something  quite  superhu- 
man, and  when  she  was  snatched  from  him  after  a 
year  of  marriage,  he  was  so  beside  himself  with  grief 
that  he  buried  with  her  a  very  costly  diamond  neck- 
lace that  she  had  been  very  fond  of. 

"  This  time,"  continued  the  Baroness,  "  he  re- 
mained a  widower  for  eleven  years  ;  but  then  he  met 
a  young  girl  who  far  surpassed  anything  he  had 
ever  seen  before.  He  got  engaged  to  her,  and  of 
course  he  wished  to  adorn  his  idolized  bride  to  the 
utmost  extent  of  his  power.  He  began  to  think 
about  the  buried  necklace — why  should  he  buy  new 
stones  ?    The  dead  would  not  care  if  he  took  back 


94  Misjudged. 


those.  So  he  secretly  despatched  his  old  chasseur 
and  the  gardener  into  the  vault,  which  was  built  in 
a  gloomy  spot  in  the  park,  with  orders  to  open  the 
coffin  of  the  last  Baroness  and  bring  him  the  neck- 
lace. The  next  morning  the  chasseur  appeared  at 
the  bedside  of  the  old  man  with  a  crestfallen  air. 
*Herr  Baron,*  he  stammered  out,  '  there  is  nothing 
in  the  coffin  but  a  heap  of  dust.' 

"  *  But  the  diamonds,  the  diamonds  !  '  demanded 
my  uncle  impatiently. 

"  *  The  gracious  Baroness  has  all  gone  to  dust,*  said 
the  old  man  in  excuse.     *  I ' 

"  '  Well,  confound  it,  sift  the  Baronesp  then  !  * 
screamed  out  the  affectionate  widower.  '  And  do  it 
on  the  spot,  too  !  *  " 

The  Baroness  carefully  selected  a  candied  orange, 
picked  out  one  or  two  other  fruits,  and  added  :  "  And 
so  my  good  aunt  was  sifted  !  " 

She  said  the  last  words  with  her  peculiarly  infec- 
tious laugh,  and  the  gay  company — they  had  already 
got  to  the  dessert — ^joined  in. 

"  And  these  are  the  stones  !  " 

She  held  up  her  beautiful  arm,  and  showeu  the 
sparkling  stones. 

"  Jussnitz,"  she  remarked,  turning  to  her  neigh' 
bor,  "  you  must  positively  perpetuate  this  brace- 
let in  my  portrait — if  you  should  ever  find  time, 
that  is,  to  put  the  finishing  touches  to  it.  Of  course 
I  am  modest,  and  withdraw  into  the  background 
before  such  an  important  and  at  the  same  time 
such  a  charming  work  as  you  are  engaged  on  at 
present.  You  know  I  am  always  considerate  of  my 
friends. " 


Misjudged  9S 


"  What  are  you  painting  now»  Jussnitz  ?  **  cried 
several  gentlemen  at  once. 

"  A  portrait,"  he  replied. 

This  turn  the  conversation  had  taken  was  evi- 
dently disagreeable  to  him. 

"  A  study,  but  such  a  study  ! "  exclaimed  Frau 
von  Erlach.  "  I  assure  you,  my  friends,  this  young 
Spanish  girl  is  absolutely  bewitching.  If  I  could 
only  find  out  where  the  original  is  to  be  found,  I 
would  invite  her  to  my  house,  only  just  to  gaze  at 
her  beauty  for  once  to  my  heart's  content.  By  the 
way,  Frau  Jussnitz,  are  you  not  jealous — ^not  the 
least  little  bit?" 

Antje  rose  at  this  moment,  a  signal  that  the  dinner 
was  at  an  end.  The  gentlemen  started  up  from  their 
chairs,  leaving  the  half-emptied  glasses  and  bottles 
behind  them  ;  the  Baroness  cast  a  mocking  glance 
of  surprise  at  the  young  hostess,  but  Antje's  face 
was  pale  and  calm  as  she  returned  the  bows  of  the 
gentlemen  with  a  slight  inclination  of  the  head,  and 
begged  them  to  come  into  the  yellow  salon  to  take 
their  coffee. 

Presently  they  were  chatting  as  gayly  as  before. 
The  Baroness  smoked  a  cigarette  in  the  circle  of 
her  admirers ;  Antje  talked  with  the  old  painter 
about  a  copy  of  a  picture  by  Watteau ;  he  told  her 
the  original  was  in  Pillnitz ;  Lieutenant  Osten  oc- 
cupied himself,  with  the  aid  of  his  host,  in  making 
those  mysterious  signs  on  a  great  sheet  of  paper 
which  are  called  "  building  a  temple."  Dr.  Mai- 
berg  came  nearer,  with  a  look  of  surprise  on  his 
face. 

"  What,  Leo,  a  game  of  hazard  ?  " 


00  Misjudged. 


**  It  is  very  harmless,  I  assure  you,"  declared 
Lieutenant  von  Osten.   "  We  only  play  for  nickels." 

Leo  looked  up  and  saw  that  Antje  was  just  disap- 
pearing  between  the  portiires, 

**  Please,  Wolf,"  he  said  hastily,  "  go  after  her 
and  tell  her  I  beg  she  will  come  back  as  soon  as 
she  can." 

Maiberg  went  out  into  the  hall  and  found  his 
young  hostess  just  going  upstairs. 

"  Frau  Jussnitz,"  he  said,  "  one  word,  if  you 
please." 

She  rested  both  hands  on  the  banister  and  bent 
down  toward  him.  The  light  from  the  chandelier 
made  her  fair  hair  glisten  like  gold. 

*'  Leo  begs  you  will  not  leave  us  to  ourselves  too 
long,"  he  said. 

"I  am  coming  back  in  a  moment,"  she  replied 
softly.  "  I — "  she  hesitated — "  I  was  only  going 
to  say  good-night  to  my  mother  and  look  at  the 
baby  a  moment,"  she  added  quickly. 

He  stepped  back,  and  she  went  on  upstairs. 
What  a  soft,  childish  voice  she  had  ! 

And  upstairs,  by  the  bed  of  the  sleeping  child, 
she  seated  herself  at  the  feet  of  a  stately  old  lady 
and  nestled  her  head  like  a  tired  child  against  her 
mother's  knee. 

She  did  not  speak  even  here  ;  she  only  stioked 
her  mother's  hands — those  large  white  hands,  which 
bore  such  a  character  of  energy — as  if  by  this  caress 
she  would  make  up  to  her  mother  for  all  that  had 
hurt  her. 

"You  have  no  idea,"  began  Frau  Klaartjie  Frey 
pleasantly.  **  whai  a  pleasure  it  has  been  to  me  to 


Misjudged.  97 


have  my  little  grandchild  so  all  to  myself  this  even- 
ing, I  told  her  stories  and  sang  songs  to  her,  as  I 
used  to  do  to  you  ;  it  was  so  delightful,  Antje  !  " 

The  daughter  pressed  a  kiss  on  the  fingers  she 
held  in  hers.  She  knew  very  well  that  her  mother 
only  said  this  to  put  out  of  her  mind  any  suspicion 
that  her  remaining  upstairs  was  not  done  of  her 
own  free  will — as  if  Antje  had  not  seen  the  old  lady 
take  her  gray  silk  dress  out  of  the  wardrobe  in  tha 
afternoon  and  get  her  diamond  pin  out  of  its  case 
to  adorn  herself  for  the  guests  of  the  house. 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  bear  it,  child,"  continued 
her  mother,  "  I  never  could  endure  parties  like 
this,  and  I  was  very  glad  that,  when  I  said  I 
wished  it  were  well  over,  Leo  said  I  must  not  put 
any  constraint  upon  myself." 

How  this  woman,  who  was  truth  itself,  could  dis- 
semble to  spare  her  child  ! 

Still  Antje  did  not  speak.  She  got  up  at  length. 
"  I  must  go  back,"  she  said,  with  averted  face. 

'*  I  hope  you  will  sleep  well,  dear,  and  enjoy  your- 
self," her  mother  called  after  her.  "  I  am  going  to 
bed,  for  I  am  very  tired." 

This,  too,  was  untrue.  A  light  burned  in  the 
bedroom  of  Frau  Klara  Frey  till  far  into  the  night ; 
she  herself  sat  before  a  table  in  her  fur-lined  dress- 
ing-gown, with  a  heap  of  papers  before  her.  At 
this  moment  there  was  no  longer  that  expression  of 
kindliness  she  had  shown  her  daughter  on  her  full 
face  with  its  Dutch  features.  It  now  wore  a  look 
of  deep  anxiety  and  disgust,  and  when  she  had 
added  up  several  columns  of  figures  on  a  bit  of 
paper,  she  laid  aside  her  pencil,  folded  her  hands* 


98  Misjudged. 


and  gazed  with  a  startled  expression  at  the  very 
considerable  amount. 

"  Merciful  Heavens  !  "  she  murmured,  quite  over- 
come. 

After  a  while  she  rose  wearily  and  with  difficulty. 
The  hands  which  lifted  the  lace  cap  from  the  light 
hair,  through  which  ran  an  occasional  silver  thread, 
shook,  and  a  deep  sigh  echoed  through  the  quiet 
room. 

"  If  she  were  only  happy,  at  least !  But  this  must 
not  go  on,"  she  said  after  a  while  ;  "  it  will  never 
do!" 

She  started  suddenly.  She  had  heard  no  step, 
had  not  heard  the  door  open — and  yet  there  stood 
Antje,  still  in  full  toilet,  but  pale  and  worn,  looking 
in  astonishment  at  her  mother. 

"  Are  you  still  up,  mother  ?  "  she  said  at  length. 

The  tall,  rather  stout  woman  glanced  at  the  cloc  k 
— it  was  half-past  three.  "  Yes,  child  ;  the  older 
one  grows  the  less  sleep  one  needs.  I  was  looking 
through  the  accounts,  as  you  asked  me  to  do,  and  I 
did  not  notice  how  the  time  was  going.  But  what 
do  you  want,  Antje  ?  " 

The  daughter's  face  grew  a  shade  paler.  "  I 
wanted  to  ask  you — you  are  used  to  it,  mother, 
dear — children  are  always  wanting  something  from 
their  mothers,  aren't  they?"  She  tried  to  speak 
unconcernedly,  but  she  put  her  hand  to  her  throat 
once  or  twice,  as  if  something  were  choking  her.  "  I 
wanted  to  ask  you  if  you  could  give  me  four  hun- 
dred marks.  Leo  has — Leo  wants  it  at  once,  and 
I — you  know,  mother,  dear,  it  is  near  the  end  of 
the  quarter,  and  I  haven't  got  so  much " 


Misjudged.  99 


Her  arms  had  fallen  to  her  side  and  her  hea^ 
was  drooping.  She  looked  like  a  child  who  was 
asking  for  some  favor  that  she  knew  was  too  great 
to  be  granted. 

"  Does  Leo  want  the  money  this  minute  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  But,  for  Heaven's  sake,  what  for  ?  "  inquired 
her  mother. 

"  They  have  been  playing  a  little  just  for  sport, 
mother — Leo  does  not  care  for  it,  but  the  Baroness 
is  so  fond  of  it,  and  now — Leo  has  lost." 

Frau  Bergrath  Frey  went  to  the  bureau  beneath 
the  looking-glass  without  another  word  and  took  out 
four  bank-notes. 

"  Here,  Antje,"  she  said,  huskily. 

"  Ah,  mother,  dear,  do  not  be  angry  I  " 

"  Go  now,  child,  and  go  to  bed." 

"  Dearest  mother " 

"  I  am  tired  to  death,  Antje  !  " 

The  young  wife  kissed  her  mother  and  went  away 
with  the  money. 

Her  mother  stood  motionless,  with  her  hands 
clasped,  and  looked  after  her. 

"  Merciful  God  !  "  she  said  at  length  ;  then  she 
sat  down  in  the  arm-chair  before  her  bed,  and  the 
tall,  powerful  woman  seemed  sinking  under  the 
weight  of  a  heavy  burden. 

"  If  Frey  had  lived  to  see  this  I  How  his  prophe- 
cies are  all  coming  true,  each  one,  step  by  step,  in 
frightful  earnest,"  she  murmured.  And  again  she 
clasped  her  hands.  She  saw  her  daughter  smile, 
that  sad,  weary  smile,  that  she  had  never  seen  in  her 
before.    *'  Oh,  if  she  had  only  married  Ferdinand,  if 


1«0  Misjudged. 


she  had  only  listened  to  us  !  But — of  what  use  is 
it  to  complain  now  ?  Help  me,  O  God  !  Do  not 
crush  the  child — she  is  all  I  have  ! "  she  prayed, 
and  the  tears  rolled  down  her  cheeks.  But  as 
laughter  and  the  sounds  of  voices  exchanging  good- 
nights  came  up  from  the  court  below,  mingled 
with  the  jingling  of  sleigh-bells,  she  loosed  her 
clasped  hands  and  clenched  her  right  hand  in- 
voluntarily. "  But  /  am  still  to  the  fore,"  she  mur- 
mured. "  Do  not  fear,  Antje,  you  have  a  mother 
still,  a.*id  he  shall  bend  or  break  I " 


CHAPTER  VI. 

The  next  morning  Antje  was  standing  in  the 
nursery  with  Dr.  Maiberg,  beside  her  child's  bed. 
The  child  was  rather  feverish,  and  she  had  begged 
her  guest  to  come  and  see  if  it  was  anything  serious. 

He  reassured  her,  and,  delighted  with  the  pretty, 
golden-haired  little  creature,  he  sat  down  by  the  bed 
and  began  to  play  with  it ;  as  he  did  so  he  looked 
at  his  hostess  with  some  concern.  Antje  felt  very 
wretched  ;  she  had  unnaturally  red  cheeks,  and  her 
eyes  were  dim  and  red  with  crying, 

"  Is  Leo  going  to  his  studio  to-day  ? "  inquired 
the  young  doctor. 

"  He  has  not  said  anything  to  me  about  it,  but  I 
think  he  will  stay  at  home  to-day — on  your  account, 
doctor — you " 

"  Oh,  he  must  not  do  that,"  said  Wolf  Maiberg ; 
"  his  business  must  not  suffer  because  I  am  here,  or 
I  should  feel  obliged  to  pack  my  trunk  and  go  away 
at  once." 

"Oh,  one  day,  more  or  less — "  she  replied,  ab- 
sently. "  It  would  even  do  Leo  good — he  has  looked 
so  ill  lately  ;  have  you  not  noticed  it  ?  " 

But  she  did  not  look  at  him  as  she  spoke ;  her 
eyes  were  turned  anxiously  toward  the  door,  which 
was  hung  with  a  portilre,  embroidered  with  all 
manner  of  droll  figures — birds,  cats,  dolls,  dishes, 


I02  Misjudged. 


and  so  forth.  Maiberg  heard  voices  in  the  next 
room  ;  he  recognized  Leo's  voice  in  short  sentences, 
but  the  prevailing  sound  was  that  of  a  woman's 
voice,  a  wonderfully  deep  voice,  speaking  slowly 
and  emphatically.  He  could  not  hear  any  words ; 
Antje  need  not  have  been  so  careful  to  pull  the  cur- 
tain together  with  her  trembling  hand. 

**  Did  Leo  paint  this  frieze  ?  "  inquired  the  guest, 
pointing  upward,  where  below  the  gilded  ceiling  a 
broad  light  blue  strip  ran  round  the  room,  against 
which  were  painted  charming  groups  of  playing 
children. 

"  Ah,  no,"  replied  Antje  ;  "  he  only  designed  it." 
And  she  listened  again  to  the  voices  in  the  next 
room. 

Leo's  voice  had  now  grown  louder,  "  Papa — 
cross  ?"  asked  the  child  with  an  anxious  look,  as 
Maiberg  got  up  to  leave  the  room.  But  while  he 
was  still  stroking  the  baby's  head,  the  woman's  voice 
spoke  so  loud  and  emphatically  that  every  word 
could  be  distinguished. 

"  Let  me  say  my  say,  my  dear  son-in-law,  if  you 
please.  Good  Heavens,  do  you  think  it  is  a  pleasure 
to  me  to  say  such  things  ?  It  is  bad  enough  that 
I  find  it  necessary  to  say  them.  I  tell  you  you 
must  change  your  way  of  living,  because  you  owe 
it  to  your  wife  and  child  !  I  will  not  have  my 
daughter  reduced  to  starvation.  And  if  you  can- 
not make  up  your  mind  to  live  according  to  your 
means,  then  you  can  pursue  your  mad  course  alone, 
and  I  will  gladly  take  my  daughter  home  with  me 
— the  sooner  the  better  !  " 

Maiberg  heard  these  last  words  as  he  was  going 


Misjudged,  103 


through  the  hall.  And  as  he  hurried  on  he  heard 
Antje's  despairing  cry,  "Why,  mother— dear 
mother  !" 

He  could  not  stay  in  the  house,  so  he  went  down 
the  steps  and  out  into  the  garden.  There  he  wan- 
dered about  the  paths,  taking  no  heed  of  the  clear 
winter  landscape  and  the  white  snow  which  glis- 
tened and  sparkled  in  the  sunshine.  That  deep 
woman's  voice  upstairs  had  uttered  his  own  con- 
victions. Last  evening  he  had  longed  to  take  his 
friend  by  the  shoulder  and  shake  him  and  ask : 
"  Man,  have  you  gone  mad  ?  Do  you  call  this 
social  pleasure,  this  confused  chatter,  this  drink- 
ing, smoking,  and  playing  ?  How  you  have  deteri- 
orated !  Stop  short,  Leo  ;  you  are  sinning  against 
your  better  nature.  I  know  you  better  than  you 
know  yourself — you  are  plunging  into  a  life  which 
does  not  suit  you  in  the  least !  "  But  what  good 
would  it  have  done  ?  When  Leo  once  got  an  idea 
into  his  head  he  would  stick  to  it  through  thick 
and  thin,  and  so  his  mother-in-law — for  who  else 
could  it  be  ? — had  gone  quite  the  wrong  way  to 
work  with  him. 

An  uncomfortable  feeling  came  over  him  ;  he  be- 
gan to  plan  to  cut  short  his  visit.  It  is  horrible  to 
be  a  guest  in  a  house  where  dissension  is  rife.  At 
this  moment  he  heard  his  name  called,  and  turning, 
he  saw  Leo  at  the  open  window. 

"  Come  up  here,  Maiberg  !  "  The  tall,  fair  man 
went  into  the  house  and  entered  the  studio.  Leo 
was  walking  up  and  down,  whistling  softly  to  him- 
self. 

"  Sit  down,"  he  said  ;  "  take  a  cigar  and  comfort 


I04  Misjudged. 


me  in  my  grief  at  parting.  My  mother-in-lai\r  is 
going  to  leave  the  house  in  a  few  minutes." 

"  You  have  had  a  quarrel  with  her,  Leo  ?  " 

"  Oh,  not  at  all !  My  mother-in-law  only  is  of 
opinion  that,  as  I  do  not  earn  anything  at  painting, 
I  had  better  find  some  other  position  in  the  world, 
as  a  clerk  in  her  counting-house,  for  instance,  or 
something  of  the  sort.  We  could  not  agree  upon 
this,  so  the  good  lady  prefers  to  leave  my  house. 
That  is  all.  She  is  of  an  energetic  nature  and  is 
fond  of  sudden  resolves,"  he  added.  "  You  can  see 
that,  for  within  a  quarter  of  an  hour  she  will  be 
quite  ready  to  leave.  Yes,  she  is  energetic  indeed  ; 
her  whole  corps  of  work-people  at  home  shake  in 
their  shoes  before  her,  Maiberg.  Actually,  there 
comes  the  carriage,  now." 

He  went  hastily  to  the  window  and  looked  down. 

Wolf  stood  beside  him  and  saw  how  Antje  kissed 
the  old  lady  again  and  again,  and  how,  as  the  car- 
riage rolled  away,  she  still  stood  there,  quite  regard- 
less of  the  cold  wind,  and  looked  at  the  marks  of  the 
wheels  in  the  snow. 

"  I  am  sorry  for  your  wife,"  said  Maiberg,  at 
length. 

"  Why  ?  I  told  her  she  could  go  and  stay  with 
her  mother  for  a  while,  but  she  will  not." 

"  The  gracious  Frau  begs  the  gentlemen  to  come 
to  breakfast,"  said  the  servant,  who  entered  just 
then. 

Antje  met  them  in  the  dining-room  as  if  nothing 
at  all  had  happened.  Only  the  traitorous  twitching 
of  her  pale  face  gave  evidence  of  her  inward  agita- 
tion.    Leo  spoke  of  the  last  exposition  in  Munich 


Misjudged.  105 


and  of  the  last  new  opera.  Sherry  sparkled  in  the 
glasses,  and  the  servant  passed  round  sauerkraut 
cooked  with  oysters  in  genuine  Munich  fashion. 

Maiberg  could  not  keep  -his  eyes  off  the  woman 
who  sat  between  them. 

"  May  I  look  after  my  little  patient  again,  by  and 
by  ?  "  he  inquired. 

She  assented  pleasantly. 

"  Are  you  going  to  the  opera  with  Maiberg  this 
evening  ?  "  inquired  Leo.  "  I  have  something  to 
do  in  the  meantime,  but  we  can  drive  home  to- 
gether." 

"Yes,"  she  said  again,  nodding  her  head  like  a 
beautiful  automaton. 

"But,"  interposed  Maiberg,  "will  it  suit  you, 
Frau  Jussnitz  ?  You  look  tired,  and  I  am  sure  you 
did  not  go  to  bed  till  daylight.  Leo,  I  must  pro- 
test that  I  am  not  so  bent  on  pleasure  as  you  seem 
to  imagine." 

"  Then  stay  at  home  !  "  he  replied. 

"  If  you  are  willing,  Frau  Jussnitz,  we  will  spend 
the  evening  at  home.  I  have  letters  to  write,  be- 
sides, which  I  must  not  put  off  any  longer." 

"  Yes,"  she  said  for  the  third  time.  Then  she  got 
up  and  left  the  room. 

Immediately  after  dinner  Leo  drove  into  town. 
Antje  heard  the  carriage  roll  out  of  the  court-yard. 
She  was  in  the  dining-room,  occupied  in  putting  up 
and  locking  away  the  silver  which  had  been  taken 
out  for  yesterday's  dinner.  It  was  after  four  o'clock, 
and  twilight  had  already  settled  down.  She  me- 
chanically wiped  off  every  silver  spoon,  every  fork, 
with  a  dainty  bit  of  chamois  leather,  and  put  them 


lo6  Misjudged. 


away,  piece  by  piece,  on  the  blue  velvet  cushion  of 
the  great  leather  case. 

Her  thoughts  were  with  Leo,  What  would  he  do 
in  his  injured  pride  ?  5he  felt  sorry  for  him  in  her 
inmost  soul.  She  had  never  seen  her  mother  so 
violent.  When  Antje,  white  with  terror,  rushed  into 
the  room  that  morning  where  they  were  talking 
together,  the  old  lady,  flushed  with  anger,  was  sitting 
at  the  table  with  the  bank-book  before  her.  The 
hand  she  had  just  dashed  down  on  the  table  was 
still  clenched  as  it  rested  on  the  bright  table-cover, 
beside  the  inkstand.  Leo,  white  as  chalk,  but  with 
a  supercilious  smile  curling  his  lips,  was  standing 
in  a  careless  attitude  before  the  stove,  as  if  warming 
his  hands.  ' 

"  Mother,  I  beg  of  you,"  cried  Antje.  "What  have 
you  been  saying  ?  " 

"  That  you  will  be  welcome  in  my  home,  at  any 
moment,"  was  the  bitter  reply  ;  "that  I  have  still  a 
warm  corner  for  you,  and  that  I  hope  you  will 
come  soon,  before  you  have  to  see  how  everything 
here — is  going  to  ruin  !  " 

"  Now  you  know  ;  decide  for  yourself  !  "  said  Leo, 
dryly. 

But  she  paid  no  attention  to  him.  She  went  up 
to  her  mother  with  clasped  hands,  and  looked  at 
her  with  an  imploring  glance. 

"You  need  not  repeat  it,  mamma,"  Leo  con- 
tinued ;  "  my  wife  knows  that  I  sel^  Jio  pictures,  and 
that  I  am  fond  of  champagne  and  fin*  horses " 

"Leo,  say  no  more  about  it!"  intent  anted  his 
wife.  "  AH  that  I  have  is  yours  ;  I  have  nev<ei  <:om- 
plained  of  your  expenditures.     If  my  mother  does 


Misjudged,  107 


so,  she  means  it  kindlj  and — perhaps  she  is  not 
wrong.  Oh,  I  beg  of  you,  do  not  quarrel ;  please, 
please  do  not !  " 

"  You  have  never  yet  complained,  child  ;  that  is 
true.  You  would  not  say  a  word  even  if  the  very 
last  penny  were  to  be  flung  out  of  the  window  to- 
day. It  is  for  that  that  /  am  here  ;  it  is  for  that 
very  reason  that  I  have  simply  explained  to  him 
that  if  you  go  on  living  as  you  do  now,  your  whole 
fortune  will  be  gone  in  six  or  eight  years — and  that 
is  the  end  of  everything  !  Or  do  you  fancy  perhaps 
that  after  that  you  can  devour  the  iron- works  for 
your  bread  and  butter  ?  By  Heavens,  I  will  take 
very  good  care  that  that  never  happens  !  " 

The  resolute  woman  wiped  the  beads  of  perspira- 
tion from  her  forehead. 

Antje  was  silent. 

"Leave  us,  Leo,"  she  entreated,  at  length. 

"  Excuse  me.  It  interests  me  to  hear  what  rules 
your  mother  prescribes  for  our  guidance  in  the 
future,"  was  Leo's  reply. 

"  Nothing  more,"  Frau  Klaartje  slowly  replied — 
"nothing  more  than  that  which  Antje  learned  while 
she  lived  in  my  house — simplicity,  economy,  and 
labor,  labor  such  as  beseems  a  man  who  has  a  wife 
and  child  to  care  for ;  not  an  art  that  brings  in 
nothing !  And  now  I  must  ask  you  for  a  time- 
table." 

Leo  looked  at  the  clock.  "  The  express  train  for 
Leipzig  goes  in  three-quarters  of  an  hour,"  he  said, 
very  calmly. 

"  Leo  !  "  The  young  wife's  heart  almost  stood 
still. 


io8  Misjudged. 


"  Mother  !  "  she  implored,  "  stay  here — do  not 
let  us  part  like  this  !  " 

"  You  will  come  and  make  me  a  visit,  Antje  ? " 

"  Oh,  mother,  it  is  impossible  for  you  to  go  away 
like  this ! " 

"  Of  course  I  must  go  !  No  one  shall  ever  say 
that  I  set  my  own  child  against  her  husband.  I  have 
warned  you,  and  you  know  now.  You  must  help  me 
to  pack  my  things,  Antje." 

And  she  had  gone  without  looking  at  the  young 
man  again.  Antje  saw  how  he  bowed  down  almost 
to  the  ground  in  mockery  of  her,  but  she  saw  it 
through  her  tears.     .     .     . 

At  length  the  silver  was  all  put  away.  She  stood 
there  in  the  faint  twilight  and  felt  almost  afraid, 
she  was  so  lonely  and  so  sad  at  heart.  Leo  had  had 
no  word  of  comfort  for  her.  He  had  avoided  her 
eyes,  and  yet  she  would  have  shown  him  so  gladly 
that  she  did  not  approve  of  the  harsh  words  of  her 
excited  mother.  She  thought  and  thought  how  she 
might  give  him  some  encouragement,  some  sign  of 
acknowledgment  of  this.  Her  mother  had  meant 
well,  but  how  could  she  use  such  words  to  him  as 
"  an  art  that  brings  in  nothing  "  ? 

Antje  pressed  the  palms  of  her  hands  together 
in  her  inward  torture.  "  If  I  only  knew  of  some- 
thing," she  thought — "something  that  would  give 
him  great  pleasure  !  "  But  she  could  think  of 
nothing,  and  with  a  sigh  she  mounted  the  stairs  to 
her  own  room. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Maiberg  had  asked  for  a  lamp,  and  he  sat  down 
to  write,  but  he  did  not  touch  the  pen.  Lost  in 
thought,  he  leaned  back  in  a  comer  of  the  sofa  and 
smoked  a  cigar.  It  had  been  more  than  uncom- 
fortable at  dinner,  Antje  had  only  answered  yes 
and  no  ;  Leo  was  excited  and  abstracted,  had  looked 
at  his  watch  oftener  than  was  exactly  civil,  and  had 
at  length  driven  away  half  an  hour  earlier  than  the 
time  he  had  first  appointed.  He  had  taken  leave 
abruptly  of  his  wife  and  his  guest,  saying  :  "  I  hope 
you  will  not  be  too  much  bored."  Antje  had  then 
made  a  cup  of  coffee  at  a  side-table,  had  conscien- 
tiously remained  sitting  beside  her  guest  till  he  had 
drained  the  last  drop  without  uttering  a  word 
except  "  Gesegnete  Mahlzeit  !  "  when  they  sepa- 
rated. 

With  his  head  leaning  on  his  hand,  he  pondered 
over  the  matter.  Which  was  to  blame  ?  Whose 
fault  was  it  that  there  was  no  happiness  in  this 
household  ?  Everything  about  him  was  so  still 
that  it  seemed  as  though  the  house  was  deserted. 
What  was  the  young  wife  doing  now,  he  wondered. 
Was  she  sitting  by  her  child's  bed  ?  Was  she 
weeping  because  her  mother  had  left  her  so  sud- 
denly, on  account  of  her  quarrel  with  Leo  ?  He 
gave  a  sudden  yawn  ;  really  it  was  horribly  dull  in 
this  Sibyllenburg.    At  last  he  took  up  a  book,  "  J?er 


no  Misjudged. 


Hungerpastor"  by  Raabe.  He  knew  it  well  and 
was  very  fond  of  it.  Ah,  yes,  hunger  is  a  bad  thing 
— there  are  people  who  have  great  hunger  and 
some  who  have  little.  Leo  had  a  great  deal,  but 
Antje,  on  the  other  hand,  seemed  to  have  none  at  all. 
Strange  that  these  two  should  have  come  together  ! 
And  Maiberg  knew  for  what  Leo  hungered — for 
fame,  for  recognition,  for  a  satisfying  activity,  for 
a  heart  that  could  sympathize  with  him,  could  be 
ambitious  for  him,  and  which  he  believed  he  could 
not  find  in  his  wife.  To  be  sure,  she  hungered,  too  ; 
she  hungered  for  his  confidence,  for  his  love  ;  they 
both  liungered  according  to  their  different  natures. 

^  Would  the  Herr  Doctor  take  a  cup  of  tea  with 
tne  gracious  lady  ?"  inquired  a  servant  at  the  door. 

He  said  he  would  be  glad  to  do  so,  and  followed 
the  man  through  Leo's  studio  and  a  little  ante- 
room into  the  "boudoir  of  the  gracious  lady,"  as 
the  servant  designated  it.  Maiberg  shook  his  head 
It  was  an  exceedingly  coquettish  room  in  which  he 
found  himself.  Walls,  chairs,  and  ottomans  were 
covered  with  silk  damask  of  a  large-flowered  pat- 
tern ;  the  heavy  curtains  above  a  divan  were  held 
back  by  a  laughing  cupid  charmingly  modelled  in 
bronze.  The  pieces  of  furniture  with  their  brass 
ornaments  were  of  graceful  shapes  but  florid  in  style. 
Costly  groups  of  old  Meissen  porcelain,  chiefly 
scenes  from  Greek  mythology,  stood  about  on  con- 
soles, ^taglres,  and  before  the  mirrors.  Here  a  genu- 
ine rococo  fan  was  lying  negligently  on  a  table,  as  if 
a  fair  hand  had  but  lately  used  it ;  there,  a  piece  of 
music  was  spread  open  on  the  rack  of  a  magni- 
ficent old  spinet — Maiberg  could  see  that  it  was 


Misjudged.  iii 


SI  French  love-song  of  the  time  of  the  Pompadour  ; 
and  in  the  book-case  were  spread  out  whole  rows 
of  volumes  in  faded  blue  and  pink  velvet,  in  which 
the  unappreciated  spirits  of  that  time  had  written 
down  their  contributions  to  the  memoirs  of  the 
period. 

It  was  a  charming  carnival  caprice,  this  whole 
room,  but  an  utterly  impossible  habitation  for  a 
woman  like  Antje. 

She  came  in  at  this  moment.  Her  gray  chev- 
iot dress,  with  its  trimming  of  dark  braid,  looked 
strangely  out  of  place  in  this  coquettish  magnifi- 
cence. 

"It  is  very  kind  of  you  to  give  me  your  com- 
pany," she  said  to  Maiberg  ;  "  the  tea  will  be  here 
in  a  minute." 

"  Is  this  your  room,  your  sitting-room  ?  "  he  in- 
quired, recovering  from  his  first  surprise. 

"  Yes,  it  is  my  room.  Leo  had  it  fitted  up  for 
me." 

"  And  do  you  like  it .?  " 

She  was  a  little  embarrassed. 

"  I  do  not  find  it  very  cosey  for  sitting  in.  I  have 
another  one  next  to  the  nursery,  that  is " 

"  Oh,  then,  do  let  us  drink  our  tea  in  the  other 
one,"  he  cried,  interrupting  her. 

She  smiled.  "  I  am  quite  willing,  Herr  Doctor ; 
but  you  must  make  allowances.  Leo  says  that  room 
is  perfectly  dreadful." 

"  I  cannot  understand  Leo,  Frau  Jussnitz.  How 
can  a  man  persist  in  living  in  state-apartments  like 
this  ?  The  room  ought  to  show  the  character  of  its 
occupant ;  it  ought  to  be  comfortable  and  homelike. 


112  Misjudged. 


This  room  is  simply  a  collection  of  the  requisites  for 
a  stage  decoration  of  an  old  French  comedy.  And 
you  are  not  in  the  least  like  a  rococo  shepherdess. " 

He  spoke  quite  sharply  as  he  followed  her  down 
the  corridor.  "  I  really  cannot  understand  how 
Leo  can  ever  manage  to  paint  a  picture  in  his  studio. 
It  is  full  of  color,  and  it  must  confuse  and  distract 
him.  Do  you  know  what  Goethe  says,  Frau  Juss- 
nitz  ?  He  says  that  simple,  tasteful  surroundings 
stimulate  his  thoughts  ;  that  magnificent  rooms 
with  elegant  furnishings  are  for  people  who  have 
no  thoughts,  or  wish  to  have  none." 

She  had  just  put  her  hand  on  the  handle  of  a 
door,  and  she  turned  at  this.  "  It  is  possible  that 
Goethe  may  be  right,"  she  replied,  quietly.  "  A  man 
can  write  poetry  when  he  is  blind,  but  a  painter 
makes  poetry  with  his  eyes." 

He  looked  at  her  in  surprise,  but  she  silently 
crossed  the  threshold  of  a  small  room  and  said  with 
a  graceful  gesture  of  invitation  :  "  Now,  find  a  very 
comfortable  seat,  Herr  Doctor.  If  you  will  allow 
me,  I  will  take  a  piece  of  work." 

Ah,  this  was  just  what  he  had  fancied  her  sur- 
roundings should  be. 

"  It  is  very  cosey  here,"  he  said,  half  to  himself, 
looking  round  the  little  room,  with  its  simple  and 
yet  graceful  furniture.  There  was  her  work-table 
by  the  window  under  a  group  of  broad-leaved  plants. 
The  writing-table,  the  comfortable  sofa,  over  which 
hung  the  portraits  of  a  gentleman  and  a  lady,  prob- 
ably the  parents  of  the  hostess  ;  the  water-color 
sketches  beneath  them  no  doubt  portrayed  the  home 
where  Antje  had  spent  her  youth.     All  sorts  of  girl- 


Misjudged.  113 


ish  ornaments  were  hanging  and  standing  about.  A 
piece  of  half-finished  work  lay  on  the  table,  with 
a  book  beside  it,  Maiberg  could  see  that  it  was  a 
cook-book.  "  Nuremberg  Gingerbread,  after  old 
German  receipts,"  he  read  on  the  title-page.  But 
he  could  not  smile,  for  he  was  carried  back  to  the 
old,  long-forgotten  days,  when  he  was  a  little  fel- 
low standing  beside  his  stately  mamma,  opening  wide 
his  little  mouth  for  a  taste  of  the  sweet  dough  of  the 
Christmas-cake.  And  as  he  went  up  to  the  writing- 
table  to  read  an  illuminated  text  which  hung  above 
it,  those  wonderful  words  of  the  New  Testament 
came  into  his  mind  : 

"  Though  I  speak  with  the  tongues  of  men  and 
of  angels,  and  have  not  charity,  I  am  become  as 
sounding  brass  or  a  tinkling  cymbal."  And  : 
**  Charity  suffereth  long  and  is  kind,  is  not  easily 
provoked,  seeketh  not  her  own." 

He  turned  and  looked  at  her  as  if  he  saw  her 
now  for  the  first  time.  She  was  sitting  at  the  table, 
busying  herself  about  the  tea.  How  noiselessly, 
how  gracefully  she  did  the  honors  !  The  little  red- 
embroidered  apron  was  so  becoming  to  her,  and  the 
lamp-light  shed  such  a  pretty  glow  over  her  smooth 
golden  hair.  The  clock  ticked  and  the  lilies-of-the- 
valley  sent  out  such  a  delicate  fragrance  through 
the  room.  From  the  adjoining  room  came  the  voice 
of  the  child,  who  was  playing  with  her  toys.  It  was 
a  world  full  of  an  indescribable  homelike  charm. 

Maiberg  felt  as  if  he  had  already  lived  through 

hours  like  this, ;  but  where  and  when  ?    Or  was  it 

the  ideal  of  his  dream  of  the  future,  which  he  had 

so  often  pictured  to  himself  ?     He  sken%  took  the 

8 


114  Misjudged. 


cup  from  his  young  hostess's  hand  and  sat  down 
opposite  her,  but  she  put  out  the  lamp  under  the 
tea-urn  and  took  up  her  work — it  was  a  child's  apron. 
And  then  she  said :  "  Tell  me  something  about 
Leo,  Herr  Doctor,  when  he  was  a  (jay  and  careless 
youth  and  wandered  about  the  world  with  you.  He 
always  declares  that  was  the  happiest  time  of  his 
life.  He  was  quite  different  then,  was  he  not  ?  " 
she  added. 

He  was  silent,  and  stirred  his  tea  with  his  spoon 
without  looking  up.  It  was  not  until  he  saw  that 
she  had  dropped  her  work  in  her  lap  that  he  bega.  j 
without  answering  her  last  question  : 

"  Yes,  yes ;  that  was  a  merry  time  ;  every  one  has 
to  go  through  it  some  time.  But  that  sort  of  thing 
always  seems  much  pleasanter  on  looking  back,  be- 
cause one  forgets  all  the  disagreeable  part  of  it." 

He  could  think  of  nothing  better  to  say  than  this 
commonplace,  and  cast  about  for  another  subject  of 
conversation. 

Then  he  heard  her  say  : 

"  Don't  you  think  that  Leo  suffers  horribly  from 
the  want  of  recognition  his  talent  meets  with  ?  " 

"  Leo  is  young  still,  Frau  Jussnitz  ;  and  besides, 
he  is  only  just  beginning  to  work  in  earnest." 

She  pricked  her  finger  just  then.  The  hand 
which  held  the  needle  shook  violently.  She  looked 
past  the  young  doctor  with  a  quite  changed  expres- 
sion. There  it  was  again,  that  horrible,  sickening 
feeling  that  had  come  over  her  from  time  to  time 
since  the  day  before.  A  woman's  dark,  beautiful 
face  seemed  to  float  vaguely  before  her  eyes,  a  Span^ 
ish  mantilla  on  her  head,  held  up  by  a  tall  comb,  a 


Misjudged.  115 


pomegranate  blossom  behind  her  ear ;  and  she  heard 
again  the  Baroness's  clear  voice  saying :  "  Are  you 
not  jealous,  Frau  Jussnitz,  not  the  least  little  bit  ? " 

Then  she  shook  her  head  as  if  she  were  brushing 
off  a  noxious  insect,  and  gave  a  sigh.  No,  that  was 
impossible.  What  could  she  be  thinking  of  !  And 
she  said  aloud  :  "  If  his  new  picture  would  only  suc- 
ceed, if  he  might  only  meet  with  some  encourage- 
ment !  I  believe  it  would  have  a  great  influence  on 
his  mood.     Don't  you  think  so  too,  Herr  Doctor  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure  of  it,"  he  replied. 

"  I  wanted  to  ask  a  favor  of  you,"  she  began,  after 
a  pause,  and  her  face  lighted  up  like  that  of  a  per- 
son to  whom  suddenly  an  excellent  idea  has  oc- 
curred. 

"  You  have  only  to  command  me,  Frau  Jussnitz." 

"  I  want  you  to  help  me  to  cure  Leo." 

"  With  all  my  heart !  " 

She  clasped  her  hands  over  her  work  and  looked 
earnestly  at  him  with  shining  eyes.  "  May  I  count 
on  your  silence  ? "  she  asked. 

"  Certainly,  Frau  Jussnitz." 

"  You  are  quite  at  home  in  Berlin — have  you  still 
any  connections  there  p  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  There  is  a  picture  of  Leo's  there  for  sale  in  an 
art  gallery.  I  would  like  to  buy  it.  You  under- 
stand he  must  never  know  of  it.  It  must  be  given 
out  that  an  Englishman  has  bought  it.  I  am  sure 
you  can  easily  manage  it  ?  Please,  Doctor,  do  not 
say  no,"  she  added,  anxiously,  as  he  remained  silent. 
"  You  don't  know  how  my  heart  is  set  on  carrying 
out  this  plan." 


Ii6  Misjudged. 


"And  what  if  Leo  should  find  it  out?" 

"He  must  not  find  it  out,"  she  urged  ;  "and  if  he 
should — then  no  one  will  be  to  blame  but  myself. 
I  entreat  you " 

"  I  will  do  it  if  you  think  it  is  best." 

"  Oh,  thank  you  !  " 

She  caught  his  hand  and  pressed  it  gently.  "  I 
know  this  will  encourage  Leo." 

She  got  up,  went  to  her  writing-table,  and  took 
out  a  little  silver  money-box.  She  blushed  like  a 
rose  as  she  took  out  from  it,  unperceived  as  she 
thought,  a  whole  row  of  gold  pieces. 

"  Leo's  prices  are  not  very  low,"  she  said,  as  she 
came  back  with  an  embarrassed  but  happy  smile. 
She  put  the  glittering  coins  into  a  crocheted  purse 
and  gave  it  to  Maiberg,  who  took  it  with  averted 
face.  He  knew  she  had  taken  it  from  the  baby's 
money-box,  for  he  had  heard  Leo  say  to  his  wife 
the  night  before  when  he  had  lost :  "  Have  you  got 
any  money  ? "  And  when  she  shook  her  head, 
Leo  had  said  only  one  word:  "Mother."  Then 
Antje  went  out  and  came  back  with  the  money. 

Maiberg  excused  himself  on  the  plea  of  going  at 
once  to  write  a  letter  about  this  matter. 

He  went  to  his  room  with  a  sad  smile  on  his  lips, 
and  this  smile  did  not  fade  until  he  had  dipped  his 
pen  in  the  ink  to  write  to  an  old  friend  to  beg  him 
to  manage  the  purchase  of  the  picture.  He  wished 
himself  a  hundred  miles  away  from  this  place.  She 
wished  to  make  her  husband  forget  the  insult  that 
had  been  put  upon  him ;  she  wanted  to  save  him 
for  herself  and  the  child,  and  she  thought  she  could 
do  it  in  this  way.     How  many  times  she  must  have 


Misjudged.  117 


tried  to  draw  him  to  her !  He  hated  Leo  at  that 
moment  ! 

And  over  there  in  the  cheerful  nursery  the  young 
wife  was  fondling  her  baby  and  talking  to  it :  "  You 
shall  have  something  better  in  place  of  it,  Mousie ; 
you  shall  have  a  nice,  merry  papa,  who  will  love 
your  mother.  We  haven't  any  pleasure  in  the  world 
without  papa,  have  we,  Mousie?" 

And  she  clasped  the  little  one's  hands  between 
her  own,  and  made  her  pray  that  papa's  new  picture 
might  be  a  success,  and  that  he — she  blushed  crim- 
son as  she  said  this,  and  did  not  look  at  the  child— 
that  he  might  get  it  done  very  soon. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

It  was  Christmas  eve.  A  perfect  hurricane  was 
raging  through  the  streets  of  Dresden  ;  light  flurries 
of  snow  were  blown  from  the  roofs,  the  statues,  and 
the  branches  of  the  trees,  and  a  few  heavy  rain- 
drops were  driven  through  the  air  by  the  strong 
wind  ;  the  streets  were  covered  with  soft  mud, 
which  splashed  up  to  the  tops  of  the  carriages  and 
to  the  hats  of  the  passers-by.  It  was  bad  weather 
for  Christmas,  every  one  said.  The  big  rain-drops 
pattered  also  against  the  panes  of  Herr  Jussnitz's 
studio  in  the  quiet  suburban  street,  but  that  only 
made  it  seem  all  the  more  comfortable  in  the  large, 
well-warmed  room  which  might  seem  very  simple 
to  the  ordinary  observer.  The  walls,  covered  with 
a  cheap  pale  yellow  paper,  were  adorned  here  and 
there  with  reproductions  of  some  celebrated  old 
Gobelin  tapestry ;  between  these  hung  antique 
weapons,  and  enormous  Chinese  vases  stood  about 
here  and  there.  The  floor  was  covered  with  an 
admirable  imitation  of  an  old  oriental  carpet,  in 
which  even  the  spots  and  holes  were  not  wanting. 
There  was  but  little  furniture  ;  a  divan  covered  with 
a  Smyrna  carpet,  a  very  deep,  comfortable  arm- 
chair covered  with  Persian  saddle-bags,  a  small 
table  in  front  of  the  stove — that  was  all. 

Before  this  table,  which  still  bore  the  remains  of  a. 


Misjudged,  119 


luncheon,  sat  Aunt  Polly  in  a  genuine  Renaissance 
chair,  slowly  consuming  a  caviar-roll,  with  her  eyes 
steadfastly  fixed  on  her  niece  or  Herr  Jussnitz. 

Hilda  was  standing  on  one  side  of  the  easel,  in  a 
costume  of  yellow  brocade  trimmed  with  black  lace  ; 
the  mantilla  fell  from  th^  back  of  her  head  over  her 
beautiful  neck,  her  right  hand  held  the  fan,  her  left 
had  grasped  the  heavy  folds  of  her  dress,  which  she 
was  crushing  between  her  fingers  ;  she  stood  there 
as  if  she  were  disgusted  with  the  whole  thing,  and 
had  the  greatest  mind  in  the  world  to  run  away. 

"  Heaven  knows,"  cried  Jussnitz,  looking  at  the 
girl,  "  that  you  manage  somehow  to  look  different 
every  day  of  your  life  !  Now  your  eyes  have  such 
a  look  in  them  that  a  dagger  would  be  more  suitable 
for  you  than  a  fan.  Drink  a  glass  of  sherry,  Hilda, 
you  are  chilly  ;  and  don't  be  so  horribly  impatient ; 
your  trials  will  soon  be  over." 

Hildegarde  von  Zweidorf  gave  a  hard,  short  laugh. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  said  ;  "  it  is  quite  time,  and  auntie 
will  be  thankful  enough  to  be  released  ;  won't  you, 
Aunt  Polly  ? " 

She  turned  her  head  so  hastily  that  the  long  gold 
ear-rings  with  the  movable  stones  glittered,  and 
looked  gloomily  at  the  little  woman,  at  the  same 
time  casting  a  glance  at  her  which  said  plainly  : 

"  You  will  say  yes,  at  once  !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Aunt  Polly  ;  "  my  household  affairs 
will  get  on  better  when  I  can  stay  at  home  more." 

"  And  I,"  added  Hilda,  with  quivering  lips — "  I 
shall  probably  go  home  for  a  while." 

Leo  was  painting  her  hair,  and  was  so  absorbed 
that  he  did  not  hear  this  last  remark. 


1 20  Misjudged. 


"  I  shall  probably  go  home  for  a  few  weeks,"  she 
repeated,  opening  and  shutting  her  fan. 

"  Indeed  ?  "  he  said.  "  How  happens  that  ?  It 
will  not  be  very  good  for  your  studies." 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  strange  expression  in 
her  eyes,  a  look  as  of  unshed  tears.  But  she 
laughed  again. 

"  Well,  I  have  not  asked  you  why  you  are  going 
into  the  country  to  spend  Christmas." 

Again  he  made  no  reply  ;  he  had  stepped  back 
and  was  contemplating  his  picture. 

"  Just  come  here,  Hilda  ;  look  at  this  face  and 
then  look  at  your  own  in  the  glass.  Are  they  at  all 
alike  ? " 

"  No,"  she  replied  shortly,  without  moving. 

"  I  should  really  like  to  know,"  he  continued, 
now  looking  into  her  pretty,  piquant  face  with  an 
expression  of  concern,  "what  is  the  matter  with 
you  !  You  ought  to  see  a  doctor,  Hilda.  I  fear  I 
must  reproach  myself  for " 

"  You  I"  she  interrupted  him,  in  a  shrill,  con- 
strained tone  of  contempt.  "  No  ;  you  may  feel 
perfectly  easy,  if  you  please  ;  there  is  nothing  the 
matter  with  me,  nothing  at  all." 

"  You  are  in  a  bad  temper  to-day,  Hilda,  and  you 
upset  me,  too,"  he  exclaimed,  putting  his  mahl- 
stick  away  in  the  corner.  "I  can  make  the  few 
little  changes  just  as  well  without  you.  I  will  put 
the  dress  on  the  lay-figure.  I  hope  in  your  next 
and  last  sitting  you  will  be  more  graciously  dis- 
posed." 

"  Then  I  am  dismissed  for  to-day  ? "  she  said, 
with  a  smile  which  did  not  hide  her  pain. 


Misjudged.  121 


*'  What  an  expression  !  I  see  that  it  is  hard  for 
you,  and  I  will  not  torment  you  any  longer." 

Hilda  turned  away  and  went  through  the  por- 
Hire  into  the  adjoining  room,  where  she  was  in  the 
habit  of  changing  her  dress.  Leo,  in  the  meantime, 
went  up  to  Aunt  Polly,  who  was  just  putting  away 
her  knitting. 

"  Will  you  lay  this  packet  under  the  Christmas- 
tree  this  evening  for  Fraulein  Hilda  ? "  he  said, 
giving  her  a  small  packet. 

"Yes,  I  can  do  that,"  said  Aunt  Polly.  "We 
have  a  tree,  though  it  is  only  an  amusement  for 
children,  but  one  must  have  a  little  pleasure  once 
in  a  while.  Hilda  will  be  delighted,  for  she  has 
no  one  to  give  her  presents  except  me.  And, 
of  course,  I  can  only  give  her  useful  things." 

She  put  the  little  packet  into  her  pompadour  bag 
under  the  gray  woollen  stocking,  and  got  up  to  put 
on  her  cloak. 

Jussnitz  forgot  to  help  her.  He  had  gone  back 
to  his  easel  and  was  looking  at  his  picture. 

In  a  few  moments  the  young  girl  reappeared. 
She  came  up  to  him  with  a  firm  step. 

"Good-by,"  she  said,  shortly,  giving  him  her 
hand  without  looking  at  him. 

"  Good-by,  Hilda,"  he  replied,  holding  the  burn- 
ing little  hand  firmly  in  his  own.  "  Good-by,  Hilda. 
Auf  Wiedersehen,  and  a  happy  Christmas  !  " 

He  felt  how  she  trembled.  She  hastily  snatched 
her  hand  away  so  that  her  rather  large  woollen 
glove  remained  between  his  fingers. 

"  Thank  you,  Hilda  !  "  he  cried  with  a  laugh.  It 
sounded  as  constrained  as  her  own  a  moment  be» 


122  Misjudged. 


fore.  He  put  the  glove  so  strangely  won  into  the 
pocket  of  his  velvet  coat. 

She  merely  shrugged  her  shoulders  without  speak- 
ing, and  preceded  her  aunt  out  of  the  door.  Frau 
Polly  ran  after  her  with  her  bonnet-strings  flying. 

"  Do  wait  a  minute,  for  Heaven's  sake  '  "  she 
cried,  almost  out  of  breath.  "  I  am  not  ready 
yet." 

Hilda  had  already  reached  the  hall-door  below. 
The  wind  whistled  past  her  ;  it  rattled  the  closed 
shutters,  and  bent  the  boughs  of  the  tall  trees. 
There  was  a  soft,  spring-like  odor  in  the  air.  And 
the  girl  looked  up  at  the  clouds  that  were  flying  over 
her  head,  with  longing  eyes.  Her  lips  were  open  as 
if  she  were  thirsty,  and  she  felt  as  if  she  must  cry 
out  in  the  midst  of  the  storm  and  thus  free  her  soul 
from  an  overpowering  burden.  The  rain- drops  fell 
on  her  pale  face  as  she  lifted  it  up  ;  the  wind  blew 
her  hat  back  and  scattered  her  hair  about  over  her 
low  forehead.  The  sad  young  face  had  a  pathetic 
beauty  at  this  moment. 

"  Is  Herr  Jussnitz  at  home  ?  "  asked  a  voice  near 
her  at  this  moment.  In  front  of  her,  only  three 
steps  lower  down,  stood  a  gentleman  and  a  lady. 
The  question  had  come  from  the  latter.  It  was  a 
soft,  childishly  clear  voice,  and  a  lovely  face  looked 
out  of  the  peacock-blue  capote  that  she  wore. 

**  Yes,"  said  Hilda,  and  she  stepped  aside,  grasp- 
ing her  hat  with  both  hands  to  put  it  straight  as  she 
did  so. 

The  lady  came  up  the  steps.  Her  eyes  looked 
out  under  her  half  veil  straight  into  Hilda's  face. 
Hilda  turned  slowly  away,  and  as  she  looked  back 


Misjudged.  123 


i  4  the  young  matron,  the  latter  also  turned  her  head 
a^id  their  eyes  again  met.  The  stately,  light-haired 
man  was  still  standing,  with  his  hat  in  his  hand,  out- 
side the  door,  from  which  Aunt  Polly  was  now  emerg- 
ing, courtesying  and  begging  pardon.  Then  he,  too, 
disappeared  in  the  doorway  of  the  villa. 

"  Who  are  they,  I  wonder  ?  "  said  Aunt  Polly. 

"  Do  come,"  replied  Hilda,  impatiently.  But  she 
was  wondering  the  same  thing,  only  more  passion- 
ately and  with  more  interest. 

An  elegant  equipage  was  driving  slowly  up  and 
down  before  the  garden  gate. 

"  That  must  be  their  carriage,"  sighed  Aunt 
Polly,  contemplating  the  muddy  street. 

"  Very  likely,"  assented  Hilda.  And  they  walked 
on.  Aunt  Polly  said  no  more ;  this  was  one  of 
Hilda's  "  cross  days,"  and  there  was  nothing  for  it 
but  to  let  her  have  her  sulk  out,  if  one  didn't  wish 
to  get  into  a  rage,  and  that  Aunt  Polly  would  not 
do.  In  the  first  place  it  was  bad  for  her,  and  then 
— on  account  of  the  future  !  "  If  we  had  only  got 
as  far  as  that  !  "  she  thought.  "  Christmas  is  such 
a  capital  opportunity  for  that  sort  of  thing.  One 
never  sees  so  many  engagements  announced  in  the 
newspapers  as  in  the  Christmas  holidays." 

When  they  reached  the  horse-car,  Aunt  Polly  in- 
dulged herself  in  a  ride,  because  it  was  Christmas 
eve,  and  because  it  was  such  a  dismal  day.  At 
one  of  the  stopping-places  the  carriage  they  had 
seen  drove  rapidly  past  them.  Hilda  recognized 
Jussnitz  sitting  on  the  back  seat. 

"  Those  were  the  Sibyllenburgers,"  said  a  young 
girl,  whose  sealskin  collar  and  the  shape  of  her  hat, 


124  Misjudgedt 


as  well  as  her  long,  narrow  face,  proclaimed  her  as 
English,  to  a  very  German-looking  old  lady  in  a 
brocaded  silk  cloak,  by  whose  voluminous  folds 
Hilda's  slender  figure  was  almost  blotted  out. 

"  Do  you  know  them,  Maud  ? " 

**  Yes — no,  not  exactly ;  I  know  the  horses,  they 
are  very  handsome." 

"So  he  is  going  to  Sibyllenburg  !"  thought  Hilda. 
She  would  have  given  a  great  deal  to  know  where 
this  Sibyllenberg  was  situated.  She  resolved  to  ask 
the  grocery-woman,  but  in  any  case  she  could  buy 
a  map  of  Dresden  and  its  vicinity. 

Buy  it — oh,  buy  it,  indeed  !  Hilda  had  not  a 
single  penny  to  her  name.  She  had  done  no  work  ; 
the  small  amount  of  pocket-money  which  she  used 
to  earn  by  painting  fans  and  purses  had  failed  her 
since  her  removal  to  Dresden.  She  had  not  touched 
a  brush  ;  she  had  been  painted,  and  on  those  after- 
noons that  she  might  have  had  for  herself  she  had 
sat  dreaming  by  the  window,  with  a  pretence  of  work 
before  her,  or  she  had  wandered  about  the  streets 
in  torturing  restlessness,  farther  and  farther,  till  at 
last  she  came  home  tired  to  death.     .     .     . 

Hilda  started  violently  as  Aunt  Polly  pulled  at 
her  cloak,  and  signified  that  they  would  get  out. 
She  walked  like  one  in  a  dream  behind  the  stout 
little  woman,  through  the  streets  thronged  with 
Christmas  shoppers.  What  had  she  to  do  with  alj 
this  ?  She  could  not  bear  to  look  at  thera,  these 
laughing  faces  of  young  and  old,  these  crowds  of 
people,  the  booths,  the  Christmas-trees  ;  and  she 
thrust  angrily  away  a  little  fellow  who  was  pursuing 
her  with  some  bright  paper  stars,  crying  indefatiga 


Misjudged.  125 


bly  :  "  Only  ten  pfennigs.     They  are  the  last,  gra- 
cious lady  !  " 

The  child  staggered  backward,  and  the  tears 
gushed  out  of  his  eyes.  "  Oh,  now,  now,"  said  a 
stately  man,  as  he  picked  up  the  boy  and  set  him  on 
his  feet,  "  the  little  fellow  isn't  made  of  weed  !  " 
But  when  he  saw  the  girlish  face  with  its  dark  eyes, 
pale  and  rigid  in  its  angry  scorn,  he  said  no  more, 
and  hurrying  on,  muttered  to  himself  :  "  By  Jove, 
she  looks  desperate,  though  !  " 

Aunt  Polly  did  not  notice,  when  she  stopped  in 
front  of  a  shop-window  now  and  then,  that  the  girl 
stamped  her  foot  angrily  on  the  pavement ;  she  did 
not  notice  her  pallor  and  the  blue,  tightly-com- 
pressed lips,  until  they  came  out  of  the  fish-shop 
where  she  had  been  bargaining  for  the  tiniest  carp 
that  had  ever  been  caught. 

"  Good  gracious,  what  ails  you  ?  "  she  asKcd  then. 

"  Homesickness  !  "  was  the  curt  reply. 

"  Homesickness  ?  You  ?  "  cried  Aunt  Polly,  in- 
credulously ;  and  as  Hilda  was  silent,  she  added ; 
*'  I  should  sooner  have  thought  of  the  skies  falling 
than  of  your  being  homesick." 

But  Aunt  Polly  was  obliged  to  believe  in  it  at 
last,  for  her  niece  was  so  pale  and  still  as  she  sat  in 
the  little  sitting-room,  she  paid  so  little  heed  to  the 
mysterious  allusions  to  Santa  Claus,  who  had  soiae- 
thing  worth  while  this  time,  that  poor  Aunt  Polly 
set  up  the  tiny  Christmas-tree  in  the  best  room 
with  a  sigh  and  a  shake  of  the  head,  and  thought  to 
herself  that  it  was  better  to  be  quite  alone  on  such 
a  day  than  to  be  with  some  one  who  was  as  cross  and 
disagreeable  as  her  niece. 


126  Misjudged, 


A  box  had  arrived  from  the  Zweidorfs  in  Altwe- 
del,  and  Aunt  Polly  set  it  on  the  table  under  the 
tree  and  added  several  pairs  of  stockings  she  had 
knitted  ;  then  she  went  into  the  kitchen  and  dressed 
her  tiny  carp.  When  it  got  dark  she  would  light 
the  lamps. 

Hilda  remained  motionless  in  the  sitting-room. 
She  had  not  spoken  falsely  ;  she  was  homesick,  or 
at  least  she  imagined  so.  She  thought  how  her 
mother  would  be  slipping  into  the  Christmas  room 
now,  with  her  few  poor  little  presents  hidden  in  her 
apron,  but  with  a  happy  face.  They  always  had 
presents  in  her  poverty-stricken  home,  even  though 
they  were  ever  so  insignificant  ;  their  father  never 
allowed  Christmas  to  go  by  without  its  little  pleas- 
ures. He  began  to  save  up  again  from  the  New 
Year  for  the  next  Christmas,  and  each  one  found 
something  at  her  place.  There  is  something  touch- 
ing in  a  love  like  that,  and  it  does  exist  in  spite  of 
poverty.  Oh,  if  she  were  only  at  home  now,  if  only 
for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  ! 

But,  no,  she  would  not  go  if  she  could.  All  at 
once  she  sat  up  straight  in  her  old  high-backed  chair, 
which  had  belonged  to  the  deceased  Berger.  What 
should  she  do  at  home  ?  Submit  to  questions  as  to 
what  she  had  been  doing  ?  What  she  had  gained 
and  attained  in  that  strange  world  where  she  had 
hoped  to  make  her  fortune  ? 

She  gave  a  low,  bitter  laugh.  "  Nothing  !  "  she 
said  half-aloud ;  "  nothing — nothing !  "  she  repeated 
again,  clenching  her  little  fist. 

She  had  gained  nothing,  she  had  only  lost — her 
young  heart. 


Misjudged.  \%1 


And  he  to  whom  she  had  given  it  did  not  think 
it  was  worth  the  trouble  of  stooping  for,  or  at  least 
he  acted  as  if  he  did  not.  During  all  this  time  he 
had  looked  at  her  with  longing  eyes  ;  her  smiles  had 
made  him  happy,  her  frowns  had  made  him  de- 
jected ;  she  could  have  twisted  him  round  her  little 
finger,  as  Aunt  Polly  said,  if  she  had  only  wanted 
to;  but  Hilda  was  proud,  and  she  carefully  preserved 
the  appearance  of  caring  nothing  for  this  man's 
favor.  They  had  made  merry  in  the  pauses  of  the 
painting,  and  they  had  had  long  and  earnest  con- 
versations ;  she  had  fastened  the  flowers  he  gave 
her  at  her  breast,  and  every  day  she  had  mounted 
the  steps  of  the  studio  with  a  beating  heart  and 
with  the  sweet  secret  hope  in  her  heart :  ^^  To-day — 
w-day^  he  will  tell  me  that  he  loves  me  !  "  But  he 
had  never  spoken. 

And  the  longer  it  went  on,  the  more  ardent  and 
passionate  grew  her  longing  for  this  moment. 

She  was  tortured  by  the  most  varying  feelings.  If 
he  was  gay,  she  was  sure  he  was  in  love  with  some 
one  else  and  had  hopes  of  a  speedy  engagement ; 
if  he  was  out  of  humor,  he  must  be  suffering  from 
the  faithlessness  of  some  one  he  tenderly  loved. 
Then  again,  if  he  gave  her  a  book  or  a  flower,  if  he 
paid  her  some  compliment  on  her  beauty,  if  his 
shining  eyes  sought  hers,  she  was  in  a  perfect  tumult 
of  happiness.  On  these  days  she  walked  home  as 
though  she  had  invisible  wings.  She  wrote  ab- 
surdly merry  letters  to  her  sisters,  she  hugged  and 
kissed  Aunt  Polly  till  she  nearly  strangled  her,  and 
tormented  the  poor  woman  with  unceasing  questions 
about  her  picture — whether  it  was  really  beautiful, 


laS  Misjudged. 


whether  it  was  h'ke  her,  and  if  she  did  not  think  it 
was  admirably  painted.  And  on  another  day,  when 
he  had  a  certain  line  between  his  brows,  when  he  was 
pale  and  out  of  temper,  and  stopped  painting  every 
few  minutes  to  stare  out  of  the  window  so  he  need 
not  see  her  eyes  or  answer  her  remarks,  then  she 
conceived  the  picture  as  beneath  criticism,  called 
him  a  mere  dauber  in  her  own  mind,  broke  off  the 
sitting  before  the  time  was  up,  and  then  cried  her 
heart  out  in  her  room  at  home.  Then  she  resolved 
to  write  to  him  the  next  day  that  she  was  sorry,  but 
she  should  not  be  able  to  sit  to  him  ;  and  she  did 
write  something  with  a  trembling  hand,  only  to  tear 
it  up  again,  and  after  all  she  went  with  a  pale  face 
and  smiling  lips.  Then  when  he  asked  why  she 
looked  so  ill,  if  anything  was  the  matter  with  her, 
she  replied  in  a  tone  of  surprise  :  "  What  should  be 
the  matter  ?  I  never  was  better,  and  I  am  as  gay 
as  a  lark." 

Then  she  forced  herself  to  laugh  till  the  tears  ran 
dov/n  her  cheeks. 

She  at  length  comforted  herself  with  the  thought 
that  when  the  portrait  was  finished  it  must  be 
settled.  She  had  hoped  he  would  speak  to-day  ; 
she  had  dreamed  of  it,  that  to-day     .     .     . 

And  then  a  deep  blush  covered  her  face,  and  all 
her  pride  was  up  in  arms.  She  heard  again  his  in- 
different tone  of  the  morning,  when  to  her  half-jest- 
ing words,  "  I  thought  it  would  be  finished  to-day," 
he  had  replied  :  "  You  will  have  to  come  several 
times  between  Christmas  and  New  Year.  I  will  tell 
you  the  days  by  and  by — I  do  not  know  yet  when  I 
shall  be  back  in  town." 


Misjudged.  129 


"  You  are  going  away  ?  "  she  inquired. 

"  I  am  going  into  the  country." 

"  When  ? " 

"To-day." 

A  half-sob  escaped  her,  but  she  put  her  hand 
instantly  to  the  string  of  pearls  that  was  fastened 
closely  about  her  slender  throat.  "  I  have  a  little 
cough ;  I  think  the  stove  smokes,"  she  said  in 
excuse,  and  looked  at  him  with  such  proud  eyes 
that  he  thought  he  had  better  put  a  dagger  into  her 
hand  instead  of  a  fan. 

Yes,  she  was  proud  ;  she  would  never  show  him 
that  she  loved  him — never !  But  she  could  not 
bear  it ;  that  she  felt  sure  of.  She  was  so  changed, 
she  cried  so  easily,  she  was  not  so  strong  as  she 
used  to  be,  she  no  longer  felt  such  faith  in  her 
future,  she  felt  so  poor,  so  small,  so  disheart- 
ened. 

Suddenly  she  started  up  to  get  her  hat  and  cloak ; 
she  would  go  to  church.  But  as  she  stepped  out 
into  the  hall  Aunt  Polly  was  just  throwing  open 
the  door  of  the  best  room,  and  the  brightness  of 
the  Christmas-tree  blazed  out  in  the  darkness. 

"  Come,  quick  !  "  cried  the  old  lady,  and  there 
was  in  her  voice  the  delight  that  even  the  oldest 
people  feel  at  this  moment  of  blessed  giving  and 
receiving,  "  Come,  Hilda,  you  will  find  all  sorts  of 
things  from  home,  too." 

And  the  next  moment  Hilda  was  standing  before 
the  tree  holding  a  little  package  in  her  hand. 

"That  is  from  Herr  Jussnitz,"  exclaimed  Aunt 
Polly,  triumphantly.  "  Open  it ;  I  am  curious  to  see 
what  is  in  it.     What  should   you  say,  Hilda,"  she 


130  Misjudged. 


continued  in  a  lower  tone,  "  if  there  should  be  a 
ring  inside,  a  little  plain  gold  ring " 

The  slender  fingers  had  quickly  torn  off  the  thin 
paper  and  opened  the  little  ^tui — three  jewels 
flashed  out  their  colored  rays  before  her.  "  A 
brooch  ! "  she  said  in  a  disappointed  tone,  while 
her  aunt  almost  shrieked  with  delight, 

"  The  note,"  cried  the  old  lady  ;  *'  there  is  a  note 
too."  But  it  was  only  a  card  :  "  Leo  Jussnitz,  with 
kindest  regards,"  the  girl  read  with  angry  eyes. 

Hilda  threw  the  ^tui  and  the  card  on  the  table, 
caught  her  hat  and  cloak  off  the  hook  in  the  hall, 
and  ran  out  into  the  street. 

She  had  forgotten  her  prayer-book,  she  no  longer 
remembered  the  church,  she  only  wanted  to  get 
out.  Outside,  the  wind  had  gone  down,  the  sky 
was  clear  overhead  and  bright  with  stars,  and  in  the 
streets  the  last  Christmas  shoppers  were  still  linger- 
ing. With  trembling  steps  Hilda  made  her  way 
through  the  crowd,  and  at  length,  after  wandering 
a  long  time,  found  herself  in  front  of  the  villa  in 
which  Leo's  studio  was  situated.  She  knew  of  no 
other  place  in  the  whole  great  city  where  she  could 
satisfy  her  intolerable  longing  to  be  alone  in  some 
quiet  comer  in  which  she  need  not  wear  a  mask. 
Only  to  be  for  one  hour  alone,  only  to  be  able  to 
cry  out  once,  unheard  and  unpitied. 

She  pulled  impatiently  at  the  bell,  and  when  the 
old  woman  came  hurrying  out  with  her  lantern,  she 
said  she  had  forgotten  something  to-day  in  the 
studio  that  she  wanted  to  get  at  once. 

"All  right,"  said  the  old  woman,  going  to  get  a 
lamp. 


Misjudged.  13 1 


With  a  lighted  candle  Hilda  mounted  the  stairs 
and  unlocked  the  door  of  the  studio.  With  the 
light  in  her  hand  she  went  up  to  the  picture  and 
stood  looking  at  it  a  long  time.  At  this  moment  it 
seemed  to  her  very  beautiful ;  the  pale  yellow  silk 
gown  with  the  black  lace  trimming  seemed  actually 
to  move,  so  life-like  was  the  figure  ;  the  pale  face 
looked  smilingly  out  from  beneath  the  mantilla.  She 
had  looked  like  that  a  few  weeks  ago,  and  he  had 
caught  the  look  on  the  canvas ;  but  she  had  forgotten 
how  to  smile  now. 

She  turned  away,  put  the  candle  down  on  a  table, 
threw  herself  into  the  arm-chair  by  the  stove,  and 
stared  straight  before  her.  "  If  he  should  come 
now,"  she  said — "  if  he  were  to  come  now,  I  would 
ask  him  if  he  loved  me.  Ah,  if  I  could  only  be 
sure — only  be  sure  at  last !  "  .     .     . 

"  You  can't  find  what  you  have  lost  ?  "  said  the 
voice  of  the  old  woman,  who  thought  it  rather 
strange  that  the  young  girl  should  stay  upstairs  so 
long. 

Hilda  started  up. 

"  No,"  she  stammered. 

"  Was  it  a  glove  you  were  looking  for  ?  " 

Hilda    drew    her    hand    across    her    forehead 
**  Yes,"  she  replied  mechanically,  "  a  glove." 

"  It  is  downstairs  in  my  room  ;  I  will  go  and  get 
it.  You  see,  this  is  how  it  was  :  When  the  lady  and 
gentlemen  came  downstairs  this  afternoon,  I  was 
standing  by  the  door,  for  I  wanted  to  see  the  gra- 
cious lady ;  and  Herr  Jussnitz  happened  to  take 
out  his  handkerchief  just  then,  and  the  glove  fell 
out,  a  little  black  woollen  glove,  and  fell  just  at  the 


132  Misjudged. 


feet  of  the  gracious  lady.  He  stooped  down  in  a 
great  hurry  and  picked  it  up,  and  then  he  shook  his 
head  when  the  lady  looked  at  him  a  little  surprised. 
*  How  did  that  come  in  my  pocket  ? '  he  said,  and 
laughed,  and  then  he  gave  the  glove  to  me.  '  It 
must  belong  to  the  young  lady  ;  will  you  keep  it  for 
her,  Frau  Kirchner  ?  '  he  said,  and  then  he  went 
out  with  his  wife  and  the  gentleman.  He  called 
back  that  I  was  to  be  sure  and  make  a  little  fire 
every  day,  and  the  gracious  lady  gave  me  two 
marks  because  1  nad  taken  such  good  care  of  her 
husband." 

"  The  lady — I  do  not  understand  you — "  came 
brokenly  from  the  white  lips  of  the  young  girl. 

"  It  was  his  wife.  Goodness  me,  you  saw  her  this 
afternoon.  She  came  to  fetch  him  to  Sibyllenburg. 
She's  got  a  sweet  face,  hasn't  she  ?  The  coachman 
says  she  is  a  perfect  angel,  and  he  says,  too,  it  is  a 
lovely  place,  Sibyllenburg,  and  they  have  plenty  of 
money — if  only  they  were — But,  good  gracious, 
how  you  look,  Fraulein  !  "  she  cried,  breaking  off 
suddenly. 

"  I  ?  How  do  I  look  ?  I  have  a  headache — please 
get  me  a  little  water — I  cannot  go  away  this  minute 
— it  is  such  a  long  way — only  a  few  minutes." 

Hilda  leaned  back  in  her  chair  with  closed  eyes. 
She  felt  stunned  by  this  blow,  but  she  knew  that  it 
was  Christmas  eve,  that  she  was  in  the  room  in 
which  all  her  hopes  had  been  called  into  being,  in 
which  all  her  youthful  happiness  had  been  awak- 
ened. She  heard  the  ticking  of  the  little  enamelled 
clock  and  the  hurried  steps  of  the  old  woman  on  the 
stairs  ;  she  saw  her  own  figure  on  the  easel,  and  she 


Misjudged.  133 


felt  with  a  frightful  conviction  that  she  had  just 
heard  the  truth,  that  he  to  whom  she  had  given  her 
heart  had  a  wife,  a  young,  beautiful,  beloved  wife, 
whom  he  had  never  mentioned  to  her. 

She  gave  a  short  laugh.  What  business  was  it  of 
hers  whether  the  artist  who  was  painting  her  was 
married  or  not  ?  What  obligation  was  he  under  to 
explain  his  family  connections  to  her  ?  She  was 
only  his  model ! 

The  small  hands  closed  convulsively  over  the 
carved  lion's  head  on  the  arm  of  the  chair,  and  her 
breast  heaved  with  a  deep  sob.  How  strange  it 
seemed  all  at  once  !  She  heard  the  door  open,  and 
she  stood  up  on  her  feet.  "  I  am  better  now,"  she 
said,  hoarsely,  and  drank  a  little  of  the  water,  but 
then  she  sank  back  into  her  chair.  "  I  should  like 
to  sit  here  quite  quietly  for  a  minute  or  two  longer," 
she  said. 

The  old  woman  went  away  and  put  some  fresh 
coals  into  her  stove  downstairs.  She  shook  her 
head  as  she  did  so,  and  muttered  something  about 
the  queer  ways  of  these  young  people,  who  were  all 
so  eccentric  nowadays  ;  then  she  put  out  the  glove 
in  readiness  to  give  it  back  to  its  owner,  and  finally 
sat  down  by  the  stove  and  twisted  a  little  branch  of 
evergreen  about  in  her  hands,  which  she  had  broken 
off  in  the  garden,  so  she  might  have  a  little  Christ- 
mas feeling,  and  then  she  fell  asleep. 

She  awoke  with  a  shiver  just  as  the  hoarse  cuckoo 
in  her  old  clock  called  out  nine.  It  was  some  time 
before  she  remembered  that  the  pretty  young  lady 
had  come  this  evening  to  get  her  glove — though, 
really,  the  old  thing  was  not  worth  coming  all  that 


134  Misjudged, 


long  way  for.  Was  she  still  sitting  upstairs  ?  She 
mounted  the  stairs,  with  a  yawn,  to  see  if  she  had 
gone,  and  if  the  candle  was  still  burning. 

Yes,  there  it  was,  and  the  girl  was  still  sitting 
there,  looking  at  her  with  wide-open,  vacant  eyes. 

"  My  goodness,",  cried  the  old  woman,  "  what  ares 
you  doing  here  at  this  hour,  Fraulein  ?    You  will 
get  cold  ;  you  haven't  even  a  shawl  to  cover  you  ! 
You  cannot  stay  here  all  night — have  you  quar 
relied  with  your  aunt  ?     That  wouldn't  be  surpris 
ing,  but  you  see " 

She  stopped  suddenly,  for  the  gate-bell  rang 
sharply  in  the  quiet  night. 

"  There,  didn't  I  say  so  ?  That  is  your  aunt,  1 
am  sure,  and  now  there  will  be  a  pretty  to-do  !  "  she 
cried,  hurrying  away. 

Hilda  did  not  stir.  Aunt  Polly  might  come  if  she 
liked.  She  did  not  even  try  to  think  of  an  excuse 
to  offer  her.  It  was  all  the  same  to  her.  Then  she 
heard  Frau  Kirchner's  shrill  voice  coming  up  the 
stairs  :  "  This  way,  please  ;  the  steps  are  so  high, 
and — as  I  was  going  to  say,  she  is  sitting  there  as 
large  as  life — she  forgot  her  glove  and " 

"  What !  The  lovely  Spaniard  herself — to- 
night ? "  cried  a  clear,  laughing  woman's  voice. 
"  Quick,  Nelly,  if  we  should  bring  the  original  in- 
stead of  the  copy,  we  should  make  a  still  greater 
sensation." 

Hilda  started  up  at  the  first  words,  and  her  eyes 
wandered  about  in  search  of  a  way  of  escape.  She 
had  taken  two  steps  toward  the  door  of  the  adjoin- 
ing room,  when  the  door  opened  and  two  ladies 
wrapped  in  furs  and  veils  entered  the  large,  dimly- 


Misjudged.  135 


lighted  room.  The  smaller  of  the  two  rushed 
straight  up  to  Hilda,  who  stood  gazing  helplessly  at 
the  intruders,  whose  appearance  here  she  could  by 
no  means  understand. 

"  My  dear  Fraulein,"  laughed  the  little  Baroness, 
"  our  meeting  here  has  really  a  rather  adventurous 
aspect,  though  it  is  in  reality  as  harmless  as  possible. 
This  is  my  cousin,  Nelly  Benken  ;  my  name  is  Irene 
Erlach,  and  we  have  come  to  get  your  picture. 
Jussnitz  will  not  let  any  one  see  it  till  it  is  exhibited 
in  Berlin.  Now,  you  must  know  I  am  one  of  those 
persons  whom  contradiction  only  makes  more  de- 
termined ;  so  I  declared  I  would  have  my  way,  and 
offered  to  lay  a  wager  that  I  and  all  the  others  should 
see  his  beautiful  Spanish  girl  before  to-morrow  morn- 
ing. Then  I  sent  for  the  carriage  and  took  myself 
off  quietly  with  Nelly.  We  were  going  to  carry  off 
the  picture,  and  lo !  we  have  found  the  original.  My 
dear  Fraulein,"  she  continued,  with  crimson  cheeks, 
"  do  be  obliging  for  once  and  come  with  us  yourself. 
You  will  be  doing  us  the  greatest  favor — it  would  be 
the  most  delightful  surprise." 

Hilda  measured  the  speaker,  who  had  grasped  her 
arm,  from  head  to  foot  with  a  long,  cool  look. 

"  Good  Heavens,  Nelly,  do  help  me  to  persuade 
her  !  "  crievl  t.he  Baroness,  in  a  complaining  tone. 
"  Do  come  my  dear  Fraulein — may  I  ask  your 
name  ?  " 

"  Von  Zweidorf,"  said  Hilda,  proudly. 

"  Please,  dear  Fraulein  von  Zweidorf  " — the  viva- 
cious young  woman  wore  a  rather  surprised  expres- 
sion for  a  moment — "  come  with  us ;  you  will  be 
under  my  protection.     Only  think  how  surprised  all 


136  Misjudged. 


my  friends  will  be  when  I  win  my  wager  in  such  a 
delightful  fashion." 

"Please,  please,  Fraulein  von  Zweidorf, "  joined 
in  the  young  girl  with  the  fresh,  piquant  face,  in 
which  might  be  plainly  read  the  desire  to  carry  out 
the  joke  which  her  cousin  had  proposed. 

"  I  am  not  prepared  for  a  large  company.  I  am 
a  stranger  to  you  all.     I " 

"  Ah,  that  is  nothing ;  there  are  not  more  than 
thirty  persons  in  all,  all  good  friends  together. 
You  will  find  Jussnitz  with  his  wife " 

Hilda  gave  a  start.  His  wife  !  A  burning  de- 
sire to  meet  this  wife  of  his  in  his  presence  over- 
came her. 

"  But  I  am  not  dressed  !  "  she  stammered  out. 

"  No  matter.  We  will  help  you  out,  won't  we, 
Nelly  ?  Your  things  will  do  well  enough.  It  is  a 
pity  that  you  haven't  your  Spanish  costume " 

"  It  is  here  in  the  next  room,"  said  Hilda. 

The  little  Baroness  clapped  her  hands  for  pleasure. 
"  Oh,  that  is  delightful  ;  we  will  have  all  manner  of 
fun  this  evening.  Go,  quick,  and  put  on  your  cos- 
tume !  Nelly,"  she  said,  turning  eagerly  to  her 
companion,  "it  will  be  a  capital  joke.  Can't  we 
have  a  little  more  light  ?  "  And  she  opened  the 
door  and  called  out  through  the  deserted  house  for 
another  lamp  ;  then  she  pushed  Hilda  into  the  next 
room.  "  Remember  that  we  have  a  good  long  drive 
before  us,  and  be  as  quick  as  you  can,  I  beg  of  you." 

The  sleepy  old  woman  brought  her  lamp,  and 
Frau  von  Erlach  rushed  with  it  into  the  room 
where  Hilda  was  changing  her  dress  with  trem- 
bling hands. 


Misjudged.  137 


The  young  lady  in  the  studio  heard  from  within 
the  rustling  of  silk,  the  low  crackling  of  the  Span- 
ish jacket,  and  the  hurried  movements  of  the  two 
women.  And  when  in  a  few  minutes  Hilda  ap- 
peared in  the  doorway  her  dazzling  beauty  almost 
took  her  breath  away.  But  the  Baroness  walked 
straight  up  to  the  easel  with  the  lamp.  "  Look 
here,  Nelly,  quick,"  she  cried. 

They  were  both  silent,  and  Nelly  looked  disap- 
pointed. 

"  Mediocre,  isn't  it  ?  "  whispered  the  Baroness  in 
French.  Hilda  did  not  hear  it.  Then  she  wrapped 
the  charming  Spanish  girl  up  in  her  cloak,  and 
dragged  her  out  of  the  house,  laughing  and  jesting. 

Frau  Kirchner  ran  behind  them  with  the  lantern, 
shaking  her  head.  "  They  can  take  her  with  them 
if  they  like,"  she  muttered  to  herself,  "  but  the  pict- 
ure is  another  thing.  I  wouldn't  have  let  them 
have  that."  And  as  the  carriage  rolled  away  in  the 
darkness,  she  looked  after  it  discontentedly. 

"  It  may  be  all  very  fine,  all  their  mummery  on 
Christmas  eve,  but  I  pity  a  woman  who  has  to  laugh 
at  such  mad  pranks." 

And  she  thought  as  she  went  back,  of  a  pair  of 
clear,  childlike  woman's  eyes,  which  looked  with  an 
expression  of  indescribable  anxiety  at  the  little  black 
glove  that  had  fallen  out  of  her  husband's  pocket. 

"  It's  a  nice  sort  of  thing  they  have  in  hand,  I 
make  no  doubt,"  she  muttered  again,  and  with  a 
vigorous  jerk  she  turned  the  key  in  the  lock. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

The  celebration  which  the  Baroness  Erlach  had 
planned  could  not  take  place  at  her  cousin'", 
haunted  castle.  The  old  chimneys  and  stoves, 
which  had  not  been  used  for  a  half-century  or  more, 
refused  to  do  their  duty  when  a  trial  of  them  was 
made,  happily  in  good  season,  and  the  foreman  who 
was  called  in  recommended  extensive  repairs  which 
would  take  several  weeks  to  complete.  So  Herr 
von  Barrenberg  was  obliged  to  convey  to  his 
cousin  the  dismal  tidings  that  to  his  infinite  regret 
he  could  not  receive  his  guests  at  Barrenberg,  but 
he  begged  they  would  spend  the  evening  in  his 
apartments  in  the  city  instead. 

After  all,  it  was  not  a  great  misfortune.  After 
Irene  von  Erlach  had  pouted  for  half  a  minute,  she 
rushed  headlong  into  a  hundred  plans  for  the  cel- 
ebration, and  promised  her  "  little  cousin  " — he 
measured  about  six  feet  two — to  conscientiously 
fulfil  her  duties  as  hostess.  She  had  all  manner  of 
fantastic  ideas  for  the  decoration  of  the  salon,  and 
began  to  consider  who  should  be  invited  ;  for  the 
practical  cousin,  who  only  opened  his  rooms  to  the 
families  of  his  friends  on  compulsion,  now  that  he 
was  **in  for  it,"  wished  to  extend  invitations  to 
some  people   to  whom   he   was   indebted.      Irene 


Misjuaged.  139 


chose  some  charming  little  presents  for  him,  prom- 
ised to  provide  a  magnificent  Christmas-tree  and  a 
"  live "  Christmas  angel,  drove  with  him  to  the 
pastry-cook's,  and  thought  of  every  smallest  detail, 
so  that  at  last  Barrenberg  himself  began  to  enjoy 
the  fun,  and  at  five  o'clock  precisely  on  Christmas 
eve  received  his  guests  at  the  door  of  his  large  and 
elegant  bachelor  establishment  with  the  quiet,  good- 
natured  smile  that  made  his  tall,  somewhat  clumsy 
person  so  attractive. 

Beside  him  stood  Frau  von  Erlach  in  a  white  silk 
gown,  trimmed  with  marabout  feathers,  above  whose 
airy  down  the  dark,  brilliant  face  looked  more 
charming  than  ever.  Behind  her  laughed  and 
whispered  two  charming  blond  young  girls,  Melly 
and  Nelly  von  Benken,  nieces  of  Barrenberg.  whom 
he  had  begged  of  his  sister  for  this  evening.  They 
were  under  the  care  of  the  little  Baroness,  and  had 
permission  to  enjoy  the  pleasures  of  the  capital  and 
the  hospitality  of  the  Baroness  until  the  first  of 
January.  The  two  girls,  who  looked  absurdly  alike, 
made  their  most  graceful  courtesies,  which  still  had  a 
lingering  flavor  of  the  dancing-class,  graduating  them 
to  suit  the  rank  of  the  guest,  and  all  with  the  most 
solemn  faces,  which  did  not  prevent  them  from 
putting  their  heads  together  immediately  afterward 
and  giggling.  Some  of  these  people  were  really 
too  funny!  There  were  the  former  comrades  of 
their  uncle,  the  merry  Lieutenant  von  Osten  con- 
spicuous among  them ;  then  an  asthmatic  old 
colonel's  wife  in  green  velvet,  who  stared  at  one 
through  her  eye-glass  for  half  an  hour  at  a  time ; 
then  there  was  the  wonderfully  elegant  Frau  Siegs.. 


140  Misjudged, 


feld,  the  widow  of  a  hunting  friend  ;  then  a  young 
man  in  an  impossible  civilian's  dress,  whose  cravat 
was  much  too  red,  and  his  young  wife  much  too 
pretty  for  him.  He  was  a  pianist,  from  whom  their 
uncle  took  lessons. 

"Just  think  of  our  good  old  uncle  playing  on  the 
piano  with  those  paws  of  hi?  "  whispered  Melly  to 
Nelly. 

There  was  a  celebrated  actress,  who  thought  it 
was  a  "perfe;:tly  splendid  idea"  to  invite  her  to  a 
Christmas-eve  party,  who,  waving  her  feather  fan 
and  giving  out  a  strong  odor  of  the  latest  perfume, 
planted  herself  before  her  own  picture,  which  in 
a  red  velvet  frame  hung  over  a  small  divan,  and 
turning  up  her  eyes  with  an  expression  Nelly  tried 
in  vain  to  imitate  afterward,  considered  dear  Bar- 
renberg's  devotion  quite  touching. 

There  was  a  General  von  So-and-so,  with  his  wife 
and  four  daughters,  the  youngest  of  whom  num- 
bered thirty  summers,  and  who  all  had  long  white 
faces  with  pale  lips,  numberless  freckles,  and  red 
hair.  Their  two  brothers,  at  home  on  their  vaca- 
tion, accompanied  them,  being  always  on  the  look- 
out for  a  rich  wife,  losing  no  opportunity  of  finding 
one,  and  doubly  on  the  alert  this  evening,  for  the 
two  Benkens,  in  addition  to  all  their  charms  of  per- 
son, had  the  great  advantage  of  being  Barrenberg's 
presumptive  heiresses — at  least  such  was  the  re- 
port. The  fact  that  Barrenberg  was  only  forty 
years  old  was  not  taken  into  consideration  ;  he  was 
Bure  not  to  marry,  out  of  pure  good-nature. 

The  young  ladies  put  on  a  rather  haughty  air 
when  the  two  officers  greeted  them,  and  received 


Misjudged,  141 


very  coldly  the  striking  cordiality  of  the  four  sis- 
ters. 

"  A  nice  match  that  would  be,"  exclaimed  Nelly. 
As  some  one  else  came  in  just  then,  Melly  nudged 
Nelly  and  said  :  "  Oh,  look,  Nell—"  But  they  both 
involuntarily  made  a  low  courtesy  as  their  uncle 
said  :  "  My  two  nieces,  Frau  Jussnitz." 

The  two  pairs  of  clear  girlish  eyes  looked  at  Antje 
as  she  entered  on  her  husband's  arm,  and  at  the 
sight  of  that  soft,  womanly  face,  which  they  found 
so  agreeable  among  all  the  others,  they  forgot  their 
harmless  mockery, 

"  Did  you  see,  she  has  been  crying?"  whispered 
Nelly  to  Melly.  The  latter  nodded  assent,  and 
they  both  looked  after  the  young  wife,  whose  long, 
dark  brown  velvet  train  was  just  disappearing 
through  the  door  of  the  adjoining  room. 

"  It  is  wonderful,"  said  the  Baroness,  in  a  low 
tone,  to  her  cousin,  "  what  an  atmosphere  of  bore- 
dom that  woman  carries  about  with  her.  You 
ought  not  to  have  teased  Jussnitz  so  frightfully  to 
bring  her — especially  as  she  hates  to  come  herself." 

"  Why,  Irene  !  " 

"  Hush,  cousin  !  She  is  in  the  way  here  if  we 
want  to  have  any  fun." 

Nelly  thrust  her  little  head  between  her  uncle 
and  aunt. 

"  I  think  she  is  charming,"  she  said  emphatically, 
"  and  now  I  am  going  to  find  her  and  see  if  she  is 
really  such  a  bore." 

Nelly  carried  out  her  resolution,  but  she  soon 
came  back  with  a  disappointed  look  and  joined 
her  sister,  who  was  talking  with  Lieuteriant  Osten. 


140  Misjudged. 


feld,  the  widow  of  a  hunting  friend  ;  then  a  young 
man  in  an  impossible  civilian's  dress,  whose  cravat 
was  much  too  red,  and  his  young  wife  much  too 
pretty  for  him.  He  was  a  pianist,  from  whom  their 
uncle  took  lessons. 

"Just  think  of  our  good  old  uncle  playing  on  the 
piano  with  those  paws  of  hi?  "  whispered  Melly  to 
Nelly. 

There  was  a  celebrated  actress,  who  thought  it 
was  a  "perfe;;tly  splendid  idea"  to  invite  her  to  a 
Christmas-eve  party,  who,  waving  her  feather  fan 
and  giving  out  a  strong  odor  of  the  latest  perfume, 
planted  herself  before  her  own  picture,  which  in 
a  red  velvet  frame  hung  over  a  small  divan,  and 
turning  up  her  eyes  with  an  expression  Nelly  tried 
in  vain  to  imitate  afterward,  considered  dear  Bar- 
renberg's  devotion  quite  touching. 

There  was  a  General  von  So-and-so,  with  his  wife 
and  four  daughters,  the  youngest  of  whom  num- 
bered thirty  summers,  and  who  all  had  long  white 
faces  with  pale  lips,  numberless  freckles,  and  red 
hair.  Their  two  brothers,  at  home  on  their  vaca- 
tion, accompanied  them,  being  always  on  the  look- 
out for  a  rich  wife,  losing  no  opportunity  of  finding 
one,  and  doubly  on  the  alert  this  evening,  for  the 
two  Benkens,  in  addition  to  all  their  charms  of  per- 
son, had  the  great  advantage  of  being  Barrenberg's 


Misjudged,  141 


very  coldly  the  striking  cordiality  of  the  four  sis- 
ters. 

"  A  nice  match  that  would  be,"  exclaimed  Nelly. 
As  some  one  else  came  in  just  then,  Melly  nudged 
Nelly  and  said  :  "  Oh,  look,  Nell—"  But  they  both 
involuntarily  made  a  low  courtesy  as  their  uncle 
said  :  "  My  two  nieces,  Frau  Jussnitz." 

The  two  pairs  of  clear  girlish  eyes  looked  at  Antje 
as  she  entered  on  her  husband's  arm,  and  at  the 
sight  of  that  soft,  womanly  face,  which  they  found 
so  agreeable  among  all  the  others,  they  forgot  their 
harmless  mockery. 

"  Did  you  see,  she  has  been  crying?"  whispered 
Nelly  to  Melly.  The  latter  nodded  assent,  and 
they  both  looked  after  the  young  wife,  whose  long, 
dark  brown  velvet  train  was  just  disappearing 
through  the  door  of  the  adjoining  room. 

"  It  is  wonderful,"  said  the  Baroness,  in  a  low 
tone,  to  her  cousin,  "  what  an  atmosphere  of  bore- 
dom that  woman  carries  about  with  her.  You 
ought  not  to  have  teased  Jussnitz  so  frightfully  to 
bring  her — especially  as  she  hates  to  come  herself." 

"  Why,  Irene  !  " 

"  Hush,  cousin  !  She  is  in  the  way  here  if  we 
want  to  have  any  fun." 

Nelly  thrust  her  little  head  between  her  uncle 
and  aunt. 


142  Misjudged. 


"  Oh,  dear,"  she  said,  with  a  pretty  air  of  Ivisdom, 
"all  is  not  gold  that  glitters," 

While  the  rest  of  the  company  moved  gayly  about 
in  Barrenberg's  elegant  rooms,  Antje  sat  quite  alone 
at  a  little  marble  table,  turning  over  the  leaves  of 
a  hunting-album.  She  would  so  gladly  have  re- 
mained at  home,  but  she  had  no  good  reason  to 
give  for  such  a  desire  Her  mother  was  no  longer 
at  Sibyllenburg — she  was  sitting  all  alone  in  the  old 
manor-house  at  home — and  her  child  was  still  so 
small.  Antje  had  had  a  tree  for  her  in  the  after- 
noon when  she  came  back  from  the  city  ;  and  before 
it  was  time  to  come  here,  the  child  had  grown  tired 
of  its  play  and  had  gone  to  sleep,  so  there  was  no 
need  of  her  remaining  at  home. 

So  here  she  was,  even  lonelier  than  her  absent 
mother,  with  her  sad,  heavy  heart.  She  did  not 
hear  the  laughter  and  talking  about  her,  she  did 
not  see  the  throng  of  people.  She  turned  over  the 
leaves  of  her  book  and  still  saw  nothing  but  the 
picture  that  had  presented  itself  to  her  eyes  this 
morning — a  lovely  girlish  face,  a  pair  of  little  hands 
putting  her  hat  straight  on  her  dark,  silky  hair,  and 
— one  hand  gloveless.  Then  she  saw  Leo  again, 
and  saw  a  tiny  glove  which  had  fallen  out  of  his 
pocket,  and  heard  his  short,  embarrassed  words  : 
"  How  did  it  get  there  ? " 

Antje  was  foolish,  very  foolish  !  She  scolded 
herself  for  it,  and  yet  she  could  not  put  these 
thoughts  out  of  her  mind  nor  keep  them  from 
dwelling  on  that  trifling  circumstance.  She  wished 
she  might  have  one  friend  she  could  call  her  own,  to 
whom  she  could  confide  the  thoughts  that  tortured 


Misjudged.  143 


her,  and  who  would  scold  her  and  say :  "  Antje, 
how  can  you  harbor  such  dreadful  suspicions  ?  " 

If  she  could  only  get  up  courage  enough  to  speak 
to  Leo  himself !  But  her  heart  failed  her  whenever 
she  imagined  herself  saying  :  "  Leo,  don't  be  angry 
with  me  ;  I  am  so  anxious — I — laugh  at  me  if  you 
like,  but  I  really  believe  I  am — a  little  bit  jealous 
of  the  little  Spanish  girl — only  assure  me  once  that 
it  is  all  nonsense " 

She  blushed  crimson  at  the  very  thought ;  her 
hands  shook  and  her  heart  throbbed  as  if  she  had 
been  caught  committing  a  crime, 

"  I  wanted  to  hear,  Frau  Antje,"  said  Maiberg's 
voice  close  beside  her  ;  "  I  have  never  had  a  chance 
before  to  ask  you  what  Leo  said  about  the  sale 
of  his  picture." 

She  looked  up  at  him  in  surprise.  "  Has  he  heard 
of  it  yet  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  this  morning." 

Antje  felt  her  heart  stand  still  for  a  moment,  and 
her  eyes  grew  large  and  fixed. 

"  He  did  not  mention  it  to  me,"  came  hoarsely 
from  her  lips. 

Maiberg  hated  himself  for  having  asked  the  ques- 
tion. He  was  the  picture  of  confusion  as  he  stood 
before  the  young  wife. 

"  Oh,  he  will  be  sure  to  tell  you,"  he  forced  him- 
self to  say  in  a  playful  tone  ;  *'  perhaps  he  wishes  to 
surprise  you  with  the  news.  But  there  is  the  bell ; 
the  tree  must  be  ready.  It  is  such  a  curious  idea  to 
collect  a  miscellaneous  herd  of  people  around  you 
on  such  a  night.  I  had  looked  forward  to  such  a 
very  different  Christmas." 


144  Misjudged. 


She  made  no  reply.  She  had  resumed  her  air  of 
an  automaton  as  she  walked  beside  him  to  the  great 
salon,  where  a  brilliant  tree  sparkled.  Maiberg, 
who  was  observing  her  secretly,  was  almost  shocked 
at  the  expression  of  her  eyes.  She  stood  there 
among  the  others  and  heard  the  playful  poem 
which  Melly  Benken  recited,  standing  on  a  dais 
in  the  character  of  an  angel  with  great  white  wings. 
But  Antje  only  heard  the  sound  of  the  words,  she 
did  not  take  in  their  sense.  A  little  later  her  fingers 
closed  over  some  small  object  which  the  angel  had 
put  into  her  hand  ;  she  murmured  her  thanks  almost 
unconsciously.  These  words  were  going  over  and 
over  in  her  mind  :  "  He  tells  me  nothing — nothing  ! 
I  do  not  possess  his  confidence.  I  am  nothing 
to  him  now,  nothing — perhaps  I  never  was  !  "  And 
then  she  felt  an  indescribable  longing  for  her 
mother,  for  the  past,  for  the  peace  of  her  youth. 
In  the  midst  of  all  this  laughter  and  talking  and 
merriment  she  could  see  herself  entering  that  cosey 
room  at  home  to  take  refuge  in  her  mother's  arms, 
crying  :  *'  Mother,  here  I  am  come  back  to  you 
again  !  " 

"  Leonie  will  like  this,"  said  a  voice  in  her  ear, 
and  Maiberg  smilingly  held  out  a  droll  little  rubber 
doll,  which  the  Christmas  angel  had  just  put  into 
his  hand. 

Leonie  !  Her  little  child  !  The  spell  was  bro- 
ken ;  she  looked  gratefully  at  the  speaker. 

"  That  is  right,"  he  said,  praising  her.  "  What 
did  you  get  ? " 

They  both  looked  down  at  a  little  ivory  spinning- 
wheel  and  read  the  inscription  on  the  card  : 


Misjudged.  145 


"  A  wife  who  knows  how  to  cook  and  to  spin 
Will  make  her  husband  the  happiest  of  men." 

Antje  smiled ;  it  was  the  Baroness's  handwrit- 
ing, and  Antje  knew  her  opinion  of  the  "housewife 
i:\<\"  as  she  called  it. 

The  gayety  of  the  company  had  been  stimulated 
0/  the  champagne.  Maiberg  stood  and  sat  beside 
Antje  as  if  mounting  guard  over  her.  Leo  Jussnitz 
i;ad  received  a  doll  dressed  as  a  Spaniard,  accom- 
];anied  by  a  malicious  verse  which  he  tor^^  up. 
Presently  he  approached  his  wife. 

"  Excuse  me,  Antje,"  he  said,  taking  Maiberg  by 
the  arm.  When  he  was  out  of  hearing,  he  said  : 
"  Pray,  do  not  keep  forever  by  the  side  of  my  wife, 
cr  she  will  never  learn  self-reliance.  And,  besides, 
the  Baroness  is  malicious." 

"  I  cannot  see  how  your  wife  and  I  can  arouse 
her  malice." 

"  I  just  heard  her — but  no  matter  !  Besides,  the 
IJaroness  is  in  a  frightful  temper  ;  she  just  now  in- 
sisted that  I  should  exhibit  my  picture  of  the  Span- 
ish girl  here  this  evening.  Who  on  earth  can  have 
put  that  into  her  head  ?" 

"  Send  for  it,  then,"  replied  the  doctor,  carelessly. 

Leo's  face  flushed  crimson.     "  I  will  not." 

"  But  why  should  you  be  so  mysterious  about 
your  work  ? "  inquired  Maiberg.  "  This  morning 
you  were  almost  angry  with  your  wife  and  me  be- 
cause we  came  to  your  studio,  and  would  have  been 
quite  angry  if  we  had  found  the  young  girl  upstairs 
with  you." 

"  I  never  like  to  be  disturbed,  least  of  all  by 
Antie." 


146  Misjudged. 


"  H'm  !  " 

"  What  ?  " 

"  I  only  thought — I  say,  Leo,  who  is  this  pretty 
girl  ?  " 

"A  fellow-countrywoman  of  mine  from  Altwe- 
del,  the  daughter  of  one  of  our  neighbors.  I  knew 
her  when  she  was  four  years  old.  She  is  pretty, 
certainly,  or  I  should  not  be  painting  her." 

"  Your  wife  and  she  both  looked  as  if  they  had 
never  heard  of  one  another." 

"  It  is  not  necessary  that  they  should.  I  am 
painting  the  girl,  and  that  is  all  there  is  about 
it." 

"  Leo,"  whispered  Maiberg,  drawing  his  reluctant 
friend  into  the  embrasure  of  a  window,  "  take  this 
as  it  is  meant,  as  the  warning  of  a  true  friend — 
don't  begin  another  romance  like  that  early  one ! " 

*'  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  flashed  out  Jussnitz. 

"  Tell  me,  Leo,  does  that  little  girl  know  that  you 
are  married  ?  " 

"  Why  should  she  .?  I  have  not  told  her  all  my 
private  affairs.  I  refrained  purposely,  for  then  I 
could  not  have  avoided  introducing  her  to  Antje, 
and  I  do  not  wish  to  do  that ;  you  know  very  well 
why." 

"  Why,  Leo,  you  are  the  most  unconscionable 
fellow  in  the  world  !  Has  it  never  occurred  to 
you  that  in  your  daily  intercourse  with  a  child  like 
that,  who  has  only  just  put  her  head  out  of  the 
home-nest,  a " 

"  Well,  what  ?  "  asked  Jussnitz. 

"  That  she  might  conceive  an  unlucky  attachment 
to  you,  for  one  thing  ?  " 


Misjudged.  147 


"  But  the  announcement  of  my  marriage  would 
not  guard  her  against  that." 

"  I  would  not  be  sure  of  that,  my  friend,"  re- 
turned Maiberg. 

"  Well,  then,  let  her  inquire  me  up  before  she 
bestows  her  heart  on  me,"  replied  Jussnitz,  peev- 
ishly, turning  his  back  on  his  friend,  and  bending 
down  to  the  Baroness,  who  held  out  her  hand  au- 
thoritatively, saying  ; 

'*  Will  you  lay  a  wager  with  me  that  to-morrow  I 
can  tell  you  exactly  how  large  your  picture  is  that 
you  are  painting  now,  the  pose  of  your  Spanish 
girl,  and  the  color  of  her  lace-trimmed  skirt  ?  Will 
you  bet,  Herr  Jussnitz  ?  " 

"  I  could  not  possibly  make  a  bet  which  I  am 
perfectly  certain  you  would  lose." 

"  I  shall  not  lose." 

"  Very  well,  then.  At  what  hour  to-morrow  shall 
I  hear  this.  Baroness  ?  " 

"Fix  the  hour  yourself." 

"  At  six,  then,"  he  said,  with  a  smile. 

"  Done  !     Your  hand  upon  it." 

"  What  is  the  prize  ? "  inquired  Barrenberg, 
coming  up  to  them. 

"  Oh,  some  nice  little  present,"  replied  the  Bar- 
oness with  a  smile.  "  What  do  you  say,  Jussnitz,  to 
a  copy  of  the  picture  ?    Yes,  we  will  make  it  that." 

And  then  the  little  white  figure  disappeared 
among  the  throng  of  guests.  Some  one  in  the  next 
room  began  to  play  a  Strauss  waltz,  and  the  next 
moment  Nelly  Benken  danced  past  with  Lieu- 
tenant Osten,  and  the  others  joined  in  with  all  the 
ardor  of  youth. 


148  Misjudged. 

An  hour  might  have  passed  when  the  music  broke 
ofif  suddenly  in  the  midst  of  a  waltz.  Antje,  who 
had  sat  down  beside  the  loquacious  old  colonel's 
wife,  who  was  relating  the  sad  story  of  the  death 
of  three  husbands,  paid  no  heed  to  her  neighbor's 
words,  which  simply  sounded  in  her  ears  like  the 
murmur  of  a  fountain.  Suddenly  the  lady  in  green 
velvet  stopped  speaking,  and  the  hurried,  agitated 
tone  of  the  Baroness  came  to  them  from  the  next 
room. 

"  Pray,  my  friends,  all  come  in  here  ;  the  young 
people  are  going  to  give  us  some  tableaux  vivants — 
only  a  few,  and  they  will  be  given  quickly  before 
supper." 

The  old  lady  put  her  arm  into  Antje's. 
'Come,  Frau  Jussnitz,  let  us  go  together,  or — 
are  you  going  to  appear  too  ?     Then  of  course " 

"  No,"  said  Antje,  walking  on  beside  her. 

In  the  next  room  they  had  closed  the  wide  fold- 
ing-door which  opened  into  a  third  room.  The 
young  girls  and  some  of  the  gentlemen  were  in  there, 
and  sounds  of  laughing  and  giggling  were  heard  oc- 
casionally. A  servant  was  placing  chairs  opposite 
the  door,  for  the  spectators,  among  whom  were  Mai- 
berg  and  Jussnitz.  In  the  front  row  sat  Antje  be- 
tween the  colonel's  wife  and  the  young  and  elegant 
widow  of  Barrenberg's  hunting-friend,  who  declared 
quite  frankly  that  these  improvised  tableaux  and 
charades,  so  far  as  her  experience  went,  were  gen- 
erally very  poor. 

"  Don't  you  think  so,  too  ?  "  she  asked  Antje. 

"  I  have  seen  very  few,"  Antje  replied. 

"  I    envy    you,"    sighed    the    beautiful    widow. 


Misjudged.  149 


"Here  in  society  we  are  absolutely  flooded  with 
them." 

The  folding-doors  opened  and  displayed  first  a 
Christmas  scene,  in  which  Melly  again  played  her 
part  as  angel. 

Then  came  a  Lorelei,  who  sat  on  the  arm  of  a 
sofa,  whence  she  looked  down  at  Lieutenant  Osten, 
who  was  rowing  about  in  a  great  old  German  chest. 
Nelly  Benken's  golden  hair  was  charmingly  effective 
and  procured  for  the  picture  a  loud  "  Bravo  !  " 

"  Spanish  Dancer,  after  Jussnitz ! "  now  an- 
nounced the  little  Baroness. 

Jussnitz  shrugged  his  shoulders  with  a  smile  and 
looked  at  Maiberg.  "  It  is  too — "  But  what  he 
was  going  to  say  can  never  be  known,  for  there 
stood 

An  universal  murmur  of  admiration  passed  through 
the  room  ;  then  a  pause  of  admiring  attention.  Only 
Antje  iamed  her  eyes  from  the  girlish  figure  and 
looked  across  at  her  husband.  He  had  his  head 
bent  forward  and  was  gazing  at  the  lovely  face  with 
a  look  of  surprise  and  delight. 

Hilda's  slim  figure  was  thrown  up  by  a  background 
of  dark-leaved  plants.  She  stood  on  a  slight  ele- 
vation, in  the  same  pose  as  in  the  picture,  her  left 
hand  in  the  folds  of  her  pale  yellow  gown,  the  fan 
in  her  right.  The  upper  part  of  her  figure  was  half 
bent  backwards,  and  she  displayed  to  the  spectator 
her  beautiful  face,  with  the  dark,  veiled,  seductive 
eyes.  The  little  white  teeth  gleamed  out  between 
the  rosy,  smiling  lips.  She  stood  quite  motionless ; 
only  her  ear-rings  shook  slightly  and  showed  with 
how  much  difficulty  she  kept  herself  quiet. 


150  Misjudged. 


Slowly  the  folding-doors  closed,  and  then  there 
came  a  burst  of  applause.  For  the  moment  compli- 
ments were  showered  on  the  Baroness,  who  was  be- 
sieged with  questions  ;  but  she  seemed  to  have  no 
time  to  listen  to  them.     She  rushed  up  to  Jussnitz. 

"  Help  me  to  persuade  Fraulein  von  Zweidorf  to 
stay  to  supper  ;  she  says  she  will  not !  " 

He  followed  her  mechanically.  "  Baroness,"  he 
said,  "  why  did  you  do  this  ?  " 

She  thrust  him,  without  speaking,  into  the  room 
where  Hilda  had  sunk  exhausted  into  a  chair. 

"  Thank  you,  it  will  be  better  for  me  to  go,"  she 
replied  curtly  to  the  renewed  persuasions  of  the 
Baroness.  "  My  aunt  will  be  expecting  me  ;  please 
let  me  go." 

"You  are  right,  Fraulein  von  Zweidorf,"  said 
Jussnitz,  coming  up  to  her.  "  I  will  escort  you 
home.  How  in  the  world  did  you  happen  to  come 
here  to — play  this  rdle  in  a  circle  where  you  know 
no  one  ?  " 

The  young  girl  looked  at  him  defiantly  and  was 
silent. 

"  Don't  spoil  sport,  Jussnitz,"  exclaimed  Barren- 
berg.  "  I  must  say  it  is  a  queer,  sort  of  thing  for 
you  to  carry  Fraulein  von  Zweidorf  off  now." 

And  taking  him  aside  he  added  :  "  Don't  you  un- 
derstand that  my  cousin  will  be  suspected  of  smug- 
gling into  the  house  a  beauty  who  is  not  present- 
able, and  that  would  be  very  unpleasant  for  me 
for  the  sake  of  my  guests  ?  "  And  then  he  turned 
to  Hilda  with  an  air  of  decision,  offered  her  his 
arm,  and  said  :  "  Allow  me  to  present  you  to  my 
guests,  "■ 


Misjudged.  15 1 


During  this  scene  Antje  had  been  standing  in  the 
midst  of  a  circle  of  curious  spectators. 

"  Pray,  Frau  Jussnitz,  why  did  you  not  introduce 
us  to  this  new  star  ? "  inquired  Lieutenant  von 
Osten. 

**  Is  she  a  relative  of  yours  ?  "  inquired  the  actress. 

"  Good  Heavens,  what  surprises  the  Baroness 
does  get  up  !  Were  you  in  the  plot,  Frau  Juss- 
nitz ? "  cried  another. 

"  Oh,  it  was  only  a  joke  such  as  our  good  Bar- 
oness loves,"  said  the  beautiful  widow,  shrugging 
her  shoulders.  "  Who  cares  how  she  brought  it 
about  ?  Perhaps  it  is  her  dressmaker,  or  some- 
thing of  that  sort." 

The  general's  four  daughters  nodded  at  each  other 
significantly,  as  if  to  confirm  what  had  just  been 
said.  But  Melly  Benken  said  quite  frankly  that 
probably  papa  would  not  like  it  very  well  if  he 
knew  Nelly  had  been  helping  Cousin  Erlach  to 
carry  out  a  practical  joke. 

"  Papa  was  so  opposed  to  our  coming,"  she  con- 
cluded, **  and  now  we  shall  catch  it  !  I  hope  uncle 
will  take  the  Spanish  girl  back  where  Irene  got  her 
from  as  fast  as  possible." 

Antje  was  perfectly  silent.  From  her  silence 
people  naturally  concluded  that  she,  too,  thought 
there  was  something  wrong. 

Then  the  circle  opened,  and  Hilda  von  Zweidorf 
appeared  on  Barrenberg's  arm,  pale,  agitated,  hold- 
ing her  head  rigidly  erect ;  and  her  costume  at  this 
moment  had  a  coquettish,  theatrical  air. 

Antje  held  her  fan  tightly  clasped  in  both  hands, 
and  again  the  eyes  of  these  two  met,  as  they  had 


158  Misjudged. 


done  this  morning,  in  a  long,  searching  look,  and 
then  Leo  whispered  in  his  wife's  ear  :  "  I  entreat 
you  to  befriend  this  young  girl  !  " 

"  Do  not  do  it  !  Do  not  do  it  !  "  a  voice  cried 
within  her.  "  Turn  your  back  on  her,  and  she  will 
be  harmless  for  all  time  !  " 

For  one  moment,  one  short  moment,  she  stood 
facing  Hilda,  with  her  head  thrown  proudly  back  ; 
she  could  see  the  peculiar  glances  which  the  guests 
cast  at  the  young  girl,  saw  how  Osten  fixed  his 
monocle  impertinently  in  his  eye,  and  how  the 
colonel's  wife  put  up  her  lorgnette — and  the  next 
moment  Antje  went  foward  a  few  steps  to  meet 
Hilda  and  grasped  her  hand. 

"  I  am  delighted  to  see  you  again  this  evening, 
my  dear  Fraulein  von  Zweidorf.  You  have  given 
us  all,  and  especially  my  husband  and  myself,  a 
charming  surprise — hasn't  she,  Leo  .''  " 

She  turned  to  her  husband  as  she  spoke,  blushing 
at  her  falsehood. 

He  declared  that  he  agreed  with  her  entirely  and 
announced  that  he  had  known  Fraulein  von  Zwei- 
dorf ever  since  she  was  so  high — measuring  with 
his  hand  about  half  a  yard  from  the  floor. 

The  two  ladies  were  still  standing  hand  in  hand, 
but  Hilda's  eyes  had  drooped  before  the  young 
wife's  glance.  At  length  the  servant  who  an- 
nounced supper  created  a  diversion. 

Jussnitz  and  Osten  presented  themselves  to 
Hilda  at  the  same  moment,  each  offering  an  arm, 
Jussnitz  with  an  air  of  nervousness,  Osten  with  that 
eager  chivalry  which  prompts  kind-hearted  men  to 
expiate  a  wrong,  even  though  only  in  thought 


Misjudged.  153 


Hilda  did  not  lift  her  eyes ;  she  made  a  step 
backwards  and  caught  blindly  at  an  arm  that  had 
not  been  offered.  Maiberg  looked  down  in  surprise 
at  the  little  hand  which  touched  his  arm.  Then  he 
smiled,  placed  it  carefully  on  his  black  coat  sleeve, 
and  walked  beside  its  owner,  who  moved  timidly  on 
toward  the  dining-room.  Osten  followed  close  be- 
hind, in  order  to  get  a  place  near  her  at  least. 

Jussnitz  sat  next  to  the  Baroness  ;  she  looked  at 
him  slyly  out  of  her  dark  eyes. 

"  You  have  done  Fraulein  von  Zweidorf  no  kind- 
ness," he  said  shortly. 

"Bah!"  she  replied,  loudly,  turning  from  him 
and  looking  at  Antje.  "A  man  must  not  keep 
everything  for  himself,  my  dear  Jussnitz.  Tell  me, 
Frau  Jussnitz,  where  did  your  husband  keep  Frau  • 
lein  von  Zweidorf  hidden  away  ?  Have  you  secret 
chambers  at  Sibyllenburg  ?  " 

"  You  ought  to  know  yourself,  my  dear  Baron- 
ess," replied  Antje,  "as  you  brought  the  young 
lady  here." 

The  Baroness  laughed  until  the  tears  came  into 
her  eyes. 

"  Ask  her  to  tell  you  where  I  discovered  her." 

Antje  made  no  reply.  She  talked  to  her  next 
neighbor,  but  she  felt  as  if  the  room  were  whirling 
round  with  her,  so  that  she  did  not  know  what 
she  said  or  did.  Only  one  thing  was  clear  to  her — 
that  she  must  on  no  account  let  that  woman  see 
what  was  going  on  in  her  mind. 

The  supper  seemed  endless,  and  gay  and  mirthful 
as  the  whole  company  was,  neither  Antje  nor  Hilda 
could  join  in  the  merriment.     Hilda  was  suffering 


154  Misjudged. 


as  much  as  Antje.  Good  Heavens,  what  a  whirl- 
wind she  had  brought  about  her  ears  ! 

At  last,  at  last,  the  last  ice  was  eaten,  the  crackers 
were  all  pulled,  and  people  began  to  push  back  their 
chairs.  Antje  slipped  unperceived  into  the  cloak- 
room and  sent  a  servant  to  call  her  husband. 

He  came,  fretful  and  cross. 

"  You  wish  to  go  ?  "  he  inquired. 

'*  Yes,"  she  replied. 

"  But  first  I  must  accompany  Fraulein  von  Zwei- 
dorf  home." 

"You?" 

"  Who  else  is  there  ?  " 

"Very  well,"  she  said,  firmly;  "but  you  must 
allow  me  to  drive  there  with  you,  Leo,  and  then  to 
go  straight  home,  for  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  stay 
here  any  longer." 

He  gave  a  short  laugh.  "  If  it  is  any  pleasure  to 
you,"  he  said,  "  I  will  invite  Maiberg  too  to  join 
us  in  this  excursion." 

She  blushed  suddenly.  She  had  not  been  moved 
by  jealousy  at  that  moment ;  she  had  thought  of 
nothing  but  getting  away  as  soon  as  possible. 

In  a  few  minutes  they  were  sitting  in  the  landau. 
Antje  could  still  feel  the  soft,  caressing  touch  of 
the  Baroness,  at  parting,  on  her  arm.  "  It  is  really 
wonderfully  nice  of  you,  Frau  Jussnitz,  to  act  such 
a  motherly  part  toward  that  little  girl,"  she  had  said. 

They  drove  in  silence  through  the  quiet  streets, 
which  seemed  endless.  Then  the  clocks  began  to 
strike  twelve,  one  after  another — it  was  Christmas 
morning. 

"  And  peace  on  earth  !  "  murmured  Antje,  and 


Misjudged.  155 


she  felt  for  her  husband's  hand,  and  laid  her  hot, 
slender  fingers  in  it.  Only  one  hearty  pressure,  and 
all  would  have  been  well.  But  there  was  no  re- 
sponse. He  passively  submitted,  and  that  was  all. 
Slowly  she  drew  her  hand  away. 

Hilda,  on  the  seat  beside  her,  did  not  stir  till  the 
carriage  stopped  before  Aunt  Polly's  little  dwelling. 

Leo  sprang  out  quickly  and  helped  the  young 
girl  to  descend. 

Upstairs  there  was  still  a  light  in  the  sitting-room, 
and  as  Leo  pulled  the  bell,  a  window  was  thrown 
up  in  the  best  parlor. 

"  Is  it  you  ?  "  called  out  the  voice  of  Frau  Berger, 
scarcely  recognizable  for  agitation. 

"  Yes,  aunt." 

"  Indeed  !  Well,  then,  you  can  just  go  straight 
back  to  where  you  came  from  !  It  is  all  over  be- 
tween us  two,  and — you  may  like  to  know  that  a 
letter  to  your  father  is  already  on  the  way." 

"  Aunt  !  "  shrieked  the  young  girl  in  horror. 

But  the  window  was  closed  violently  upstairs,  and 
the  light  put  out. 

Leo  Jussnitz  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  What  is  to  be  done  about  it  ?  "  he  said.  "  Aunt 
Polly  is  very  angry.  Get  in  again  and  come  to 
Sibyllenburg  with  us." 

Antje  had  put  her  head  out  of  the  carriage  win- 
dow. "  For  Heaven's  sake,  what  sort  of  people  are 
they  that  she  belongs  to  ?  "  went  through  her  mind. 
She  could  see  the  young  girl  now  pulling  desperately 
at  the  bell. 

"  Aunt  !  Aunt  !  "  her  trembling  voice  sounded 
through  the  silent  night. 


156  Misjudged, 


"  Her  people  will  not  let  her  in,  it  seems,"  said 
Maiberg  calmly. 

"  Then  give  it  up.  My  wife  will  be  very  glad 
to  have  you  go  home  with  us,"  they  heard  Leo's 
voice  saying  outside.  "  You  see  we  cannot  possibly 
make  an  uproar  here  in  the  middle  of  the  night." 

Antje  moved  silently  over  to  the  other  side  of  the 
carriage,  and  the  next  moment  the  girl's  trembling 
figure  sank  down  among  the  cushions  beside  her, 
sobbing  with  anger  and  mortification. 

"  Your  aunt,  no  doubt,  was  anxious  about  you, 
and  that  was  enough,  in  a  person  of  her  tempera- 
ment, to  account  for  her  hardness,"  said  Jussnitz, 
comfortingly.  "  I  will  write  to  her  to-morrow  or  go 
and  see  her  myself  ;  and  for  the  present  you  will  be 
our  guest." 

The  coachman  drove  home  at  a  furious  pace.  It 
had  grown  colder,  and  light  frost-flowers  began  to 
appear  on  the  window-panes,  made  visible  as  they 
dashed  by  a  street  lamp.  Inside  the  carriage  the 
air  presently  grew  so  close  that  Maiberg  without 
ceremony  let  down  a  window  half-way.  Antje  had 
drawn  herself  close  into  a  comer  and  drew  her  cloak 
tightly  round  her. 

Who  was  this  who  was  to  be  admitted  into  the 
sanctuary  of  her  home,  who  was  to  live  in  the  rooms 
that  belonged  to  her  ?  What  would  her  child's  clear 
eyes  be  compelled  to  witness  ? 

Her  whole  frame  shook  as  she  crossed  the  thresh- 
old of  her  child's  room. 

"  Merciful  Heavens  !  "  cried  old  Classen,  who 
had  been  sitting  with  the  child,  "  how  you  do 
look  !  " 


Misjudged.  157 


Antje  had  thrown  off  her  furs  as  she  entered  the 
warm,  dimly-lighted  room  of  her  darling  and  knelt 
down  beside  the  sleeping  child. 

"  You  had  better  go  to  bed,"  said  the  old  woman  ; 
"  you  are  feverish,  gracious  lady." 

"  Yes,  presently,  dear  Classen ;  only  first  I  will — 
go  and  find  Minna  ;  we  must  get  a  room  ready — we 
have  a  visitor," 

"  My  gracious  !    It  must  be  two  o'clock  !  " 

"  Yes,  but  it  happens  so — "  And  Antje  got  out 
her  key-basket  and  went  downstairs  to  the  clothes- 
press.  She  heard  Leo's  voice  in  the  dining-room  ; 
it  sounded  loud  and  angry. 

"  I  did  not  <hink  you  could  be  so  thoughtless, 
Hildegarde/'  he  was  saying.  "  What  did  you  mean 
by  it  ?  Did  you  wish  to  make  me  angry  ?  What 
could  it  be  ?  And  now  see  what  a  position  you 
have  put  yourself  in,  and  me,  too  !  " 

Antje  went  to  the  door  and  opened  it  a  little. 

"  Please  do  not  speak  so  loud,  Leo,"  she  said, 
quietly. 

Hilda  was  sitting  wMth  a  pale  but  smiling  face  on 
the  edge  of  a  chair,  twisting  her  handkerchief  about 
in  her  hands,  "  It  was  a  joke,"  she  said,  shrugging 
her  shoulders. 

"  You  must  have  a  little  patience,  Fraulein  von 
Zweidorf,"  said  Antje,  turning  to  the  young  girl. 
"  Your  room  is  not  warmed  yet,  but  it  will  soon  be 
ready." 

And  she  gave  the  linen  to  the  housemaid,  bidding 
her  make  haste,  and  promised  to  provide  Hilda 
with  some  clothes  until  her  own  could  be  sent  for. 
Afterward  she  herself  showed    her   guest    to   hcf 


":>58  Misjudged. 


tosey  room,  wishing  her  a  comfortable  night  in  the 
presence  of  the  maid. 

There  was  no  rest  or  comfort  for  her.  She  lay 
wide  awake  the  whole  long  night,  listening  to  the 
moaning  of  the  wind  and  the  creaking  of  the 
branches  of  the  tall  trees  outside,  and  to  the  restless 
pacing  to  and  fro  of  her  husband  in  the  adjoining 
room.  If  he  had  come  to  her  then  and  spoken 
kindly  with  her  about  what  had  happened,  how 
gladly  would  she  have  believed  all  he  might  have 
said ;  but  even  now  he  did  not  make  the  slightest 
attempt  at  an  explanation. 

He  had  declared  that  he  was  not  sleepy,  but 
Antje  knew  that  it  was  only  because  he  wished  to 
evade  a  discussion.  She  could  hear  him  at  length 
throw  himself  on  a  sofa,  and  after  a  while,  when  he 
thought  she  had  gone  to  sleep,  he  came  in.  Her 
hand  quivered  ;  she  would  so  gladly  have  stretched 
it  out  to  him  and  said  :  "  Have  confidence  in  me, 
Leo  ;  do  not  let  us  go  on  like  this."  But  she  could 
not  get  up  her  courage. 

Neither  did  Hilda  sleep.  She  felt  as  if  she  would 
iike  to  cry,  but  no  tears  came.  She  seemed  to  have 
grown  so  poor  on  this  Christmas  eve.  She  felt 
outraged  and  humiliated  to  the  last  degree,  and 
she  hated  the  woman  who  occupied  the  place  that 
ought  to  be  hers. 

The  Baroness  had  told  her  niece  about  it  in  the 
carriage  as  they  were  driving  away  from  the  studio. 
She  had  spoken  French,  thinking  that  Hilda  could 
not  understand — she,  whose  mother  was  a  French- 
woman. She  said  this  woman  was  an  utter  non- 
entity, ind  it  was  incomprehensible    how  such    a 


Misjudged.  159 


charming  man  as  Jussnitz  could  ever  have  chosen 
her.  Of  course  he  had  expiated  his  folly,  for  they 
were  miserable  together.  Any  one  could  see  how 
her  Dutch  phlegm,  combined  with  the  narrowest 
and  silliest  views,  made  him  nervous  to  his  very 
finger-tips.  The  only  thing  which  still  bound  him 
to  his  wife  was  her  money — poor  fellow  ! 

"  Poor  fellow !  "  Hilda  said,  now  half -aloud, 
wringing  her  trembling  hands.  Then,  however, 
she  clenched  her  hand  and  cried  with  a  sob  :  "  Oh, 
he  is  base,  he  is  wicked  !  Oh,  what  a  silly,  silly  girl 
I  have  been !  "  And  she  shrank  from  the  sound  of 
her  own  voice. 


CHAPTER  X. 

"  FrAulein  von  Zweidorf  has  a  headache," 
announced  the  housemaid  the  next  morning,  as 
the  family  assembled  in  the  dining-room  rather 
later  than  usual  for  breakfast. 

Antje  sent  to  inquire  what  she  would  have  sent 
to  her,  coffee  or  tea.  The  answer  came  back  that 
Fraulein  von  Zweidorf  did  not  care  for  anything. 

Antje  had  just  made  the  tea  and  was  filling  the 
cups  for  Dr.  Maiberg  and  Leo.  She  was  standing 
by  the  table  on  which  the  silver  urn  was  placed,  in 
a  very  simple  morning-dress  of  soft  white  woollen, 
and  the  winter  sun  which  came  through  the  win- 
dows in  a  broad  stream  surrounded  the  white  figure 
with  a  dazzling  radiance.  She  had  had  her  back 
turned  to  the  gentlemen,  but  now  she  came  across 
the  room  and  took  her  seat  between  them. 

"  Hadn't  you  better  go  and  look  after  Fraulein 
von  Zweidorf  ?  "  said  Leo,  impatiently.  "  She  seems 
to  be  ill." 

"  I  have  already  been  to  see  her,"  replied  his 
wife.  "  She  is  not  ill,  she  only  seems  greatly  excited. 
I  could  get  no  answer  to  all  my  questions,  except 
that  she  wished  her  things  sent  for  from  her  aunt's, 
for  she  wished  to  go  away  by  the  next  train." 

**  Go  away  ? "  inquired  Leo,  cnishing  his  toast 
between  his  fingers.     "  Where  .'  " 


Misjudged.  i6i 


"  To  her  parents,  she  said." 

**  That  is  delightful  for  me  and  my  picture,"  he 
exclaimed.     "  And  what  did  you  say,  if  I  may  ask  ?  " 

"  I  tried  to  persuade  her  to  make  her  peace  with 
her  aunt  first " 

Jussnitz  frowned. 

**  But  she  was  exceedingly  indignant  at  the  very 
idea,"  continued  Antje  ;  "  called  her  aunt  a  low, 
vulgar  person,  who  had  insulted  her  shamefully, 
and  asked  me  for  a  pen  and  ink  to  write  to  her 
father." 

"  I  will  go  and  see  the  worthy  Aunt  Polly,  by- 
and-by,"  exclaimed  Leo.  "  Hilda  is  right ;  she 
cannot  go  back  to  her — she  certainly  was  not  mucli 
above  the  grade  of  a  washerwoman  in  her  behavior 
last  night.  But  Fraulein  von  Zweidorf  must  not  go 
away  for  all  that,  for  my  picture  must  not  suffer  for 
her  childish  folly.  So,  pray,  have  the  goodness, 
Antje,  to  go  up  to  her  and  invite  her  to  remain  as 
our  guest  until — well,  we  will  see  about  that.  I  will 
drive  in  town  in  about  an  hour.  Will  you  come  too, 
Maiberg?  Well,  Antje,  I  should  like  to  have  an 
answer." 

Antje  had  looked  beyond  him  ;  the  silver  tea- 
spoon in  her  hand  shook  slightly. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied  at  length,  when  Leo  had 
stopped  speaking. 

"  Of  course  you  must  not  mention  the  picture  as 
the  chief  reason,"  he  continued,  in  a  warning  voice  ; 
"you  need  only  say  how  glad  we  shall  be  to  keep 
her  here  for  a  while.     Do  you  understand  ?  " 

This  time  Antje  made  no  reply.  She  rose,  toolt 
her  key-basket,  and  left  the  room. 


i62  Misjudged. 


"  Your  wife  looks  very  pale,"  remarked  Wolf. 

"She  always  does  when  anything  does  not  suit 
her.  I  have  accustomed  myself  not  to  notice  it." 
And  Leo  took  up  the  newspaper,  and  taking  a  com- 
fortable whiff  at  his  cigar,  he  added  :  "  It's  a  queer 
sort  of  thing — I  can't  imagine  how  women  can  in- 
vent so  many  different  ways  of  making  themselves 
disagreeable.  This  practical  joke  of  the  Baroness 
was  got  up  for  Antje's  especial  benefit.  Well,  this 
time  she  got  herself  out  of  the  difficulty  tolerably 
well." 

**  Tolerably  well  ?  She  acted  like  a  brave,  true 
woman,  as  she  is,"  returned  Maiberg,  giving  his  cup 
an  angry  push  as  he  spoke. 

He  recalled  Leo's  words  last  evening,  begging 
him  not  to  keep  so  continually  beside  Antje,  and  he 
flushed  involuntarily.  Then  he  got  up.  "  If  you 
don't  mind,"  he  said,  very  quietly,  "  I  will  not  go  to 
Dresden  with  you." 

"  Why  not  ?  We  were  going  to  lunch  with  Bar- 
renberg  at  the  English  Garden." 

"  Thank  you  ;  I  really  have  no  desire  to  plunge 
into  a  crowd  of  strangers  so  soon  again."  And 
with  a  very  grave  look  in  his  blue  eyes  he,  too,  took 
up  a  newspaper,  seated  himself  by  the  window,  and 
began  to  read. 

At  this  moment  Antje  came  in. 

"  Well  ? "  called  out  Leo. 

"  She  will  stay  with  us,  Leo." 

**  Ah,  really  !  "  he  said,  carelessly,  folding  up  his 
napkin,  quite  contrary  to  his  usual  custom,  as  he  re- 
marked :  "  Then  I  will  finish  the  picture  here" 

Antje  busied  herself  about  the  table  ;  she  appar- 


Misjudged.  163 


ently  had  not  heard  her  husband's  words.  Then 
she  again  took  up  her  key-basket  to  go  about  her 
household  duties.  At  the  door  she  turned  and 
said  :  "  Fraulein  von  Zweidorf  wishes  to  speak  with 
you,  Leo,  before  you  go  to  Dresden.  She  is  wait- 
ing for  you  in  my  sitting-room  upstairs.  I  shall  go 
to  church  by-and-by.  You  will  be  back  in  time  for 
dinner,  I  suppose,  for  I  do  not  like  to  give  the  serv- 
ants their  presents  without  you." 

He  muttered  something  that  sounded  like  assent, 
and  she  disappeared. 

"  Classen,"  she  said,  downstairs  in  the  kitchen, 
"the  young  lady  will  stay  here  for  some  time." 

The  old  woman  looked  searchingly  at  her  mis- 
tress, but  she  could  not  tell  from  that  calm  face 
whether  this  visit  was  a  pleasure  or  a  burden  to  her. 

"Very  good,"  she  said,  "but  I  wouldn't  keep  an 
actress  like  yon  in  my  house." 

"  She  is  not  an  actress,  Classen,"  replied  Antje, 
wearily,  looking  up  from  the  great  Christmas  stollen 
on  which  she  was  mechanically  affixing  the  scrap 
of  paper  with  the  name  of  the  recipient.  "  She  is 
an  old  friend  of  my  husband's,  and  he  is  painting 
her  because  she  is  so  pretty." 

"His  friend?  What  does  he  want  of  a  friend 
when  he  has  got  a  wife  like  you  ? "  she  muttered  to 
herself,  beginning  to  shove  her  great  pots  and  pans 
about  angrily.  "  It  is  all  very  well  to  be  good  and 
submissive,  but  to  be  too  good  and  too  submissive 
is — "  The  rest  was  swallowed  out  of  the  respect 
which  she  felt  for  her  young  mistress.  "  She  will 
suffer  for  her  goodness  yet  ! "  she  sighed,  looking 
after  Antje. 


164  Misjudged. 


Antje  began  to  change  her  dress  in  her  own  room, 
as  she  was  going  to  church.  She  did  not  observe 
that  the  door  of  her  little  rococo  salon  was  not  quite 
closed.  She  felt  in  a  hurry,  for  it  was  a  long  way, 
and  she  wished  to  walk  there  in  the  fresh  winter  air 
— and,  moreover,  she  did  not  wish  to  keep  Maiberg 
waiting,  who  had  begged  to  be  allowed  to  accom- 
pany her.  i 

Suddenly  her  husband's  voice  sounded  in  her  ear  : 

"Christmas  has  brought  me  something,  too, 
Hilda " 

A  long  pause  ensued,  and  then  he  spoke  again, 
so  slowly  and  distinctly  that  not  the  slightest 
nuance  escaped  his  young  wife.  "  I  have  sold  a 
picture  in  Berlin — what  do  you  say  to  that,  Hilda  ? 
Hilda,  are  you  not  glad  for  me  ?  You  usually 
take  so  much  interest  in  my  painting.  I  wanted 
to  tell  you  of  it  yesterday,  but  you  were  so  indif- 
ferent, so  freezing,  that  I — you  must  not  be  like 
that  again,  child  ;  it  hurts  me.  Tell  me,  are  you 
not  glad  ?  " 

"  Oh,  of  course  I  am  glad.  I  congratulate  you 
upon  your  success,"  was  the  icy  response. 

"  Hilda  !  Good  Heavens,  Hilda  !  "  These  few 
words  sounded  unspeakably  tender  to  Antje's  ears  ; 
she  felt  that  no  one  could  speak  like  that  unless  he 
felt  it  in  the  depths  of  his  soul.  "  Hilda,  do  not 
take  that  tone  ;  it  is  not  true,  it  is  not  real  !  " 

Antje  suddenly  leaned  for  support  against  her 
toilet-table  ;  her  delicate,  pale  face  looked  actually 
distorted  at  this  moment.  Yes,  here  it  was  in  real- 
ity, all  she  had  feared — the  proof  that  she,  his  wife, 
was  nothing  more  to  him.     She  forcibly  kept  back 


Misjudged,  165 


the  sobs  that  threatened  to  choke  her,  then  she 
rushed  across  to  the  nursery  and  threw  herself  on 
her  knees  beside  her  child. 

"  Mousie  !  "  she  gasped  out,  pressing  the  little 
golden  head  against  her  breast — "  Mousie,  it  must 
not  be,  it  cannot  be ;  we  will  defend  ourselves. 
Mouse,  we  will  defend  ourselves  !  "  And  with  quiv- 
ering lips  she  repeated  once  more :  "  We  will  de- 
fend ourselves,  we  will  not  give  up  papa  !  " 

And  as  the  little  one,  frightened  by  its  mother's 
unusual  violence,  began  to  cry,  she  comforted  the 
child  in  her  softest  tones,  but  she  still  kept  repeating 
her  single  phrase  :  "  We  will  not  give  up  papa  ;  no, 
no!" 

"  Not  give  up — papa  !  "  repeated  the  little  one,  the 
large  tears  still  standing  on  her  cheeks — "  not  give 
up  dear  papa !  " 


CHAPTER  XL 

Aunt  Polly  did  not  go  to  bed  at  all  that  Christ- 
mas eve.  The  little  body  did  not  begin  to  realize 
the  effect  of  her  words  until  it  became  quite  quiet 
outside,  and  the  bell  was  not  pulled  a  third  time 
by  the  repentant  sinner,  as  she  had  confidently  ex- 
pected. After  waiting  in  vain  for  a  quarter  of  an 
hour,  she  softly  opened  the  window  and  listened, 
but  she  could  hear  nothing.  She  called  out  in 
a  harsh  voice  :  "  Are  you  still  there  ?" 

There  was  no  reply. 

"  Hilda  !  "  she  cried  again,  harshly  at  first,  then 
more  gently  and  excitedly.  "  Answer  ime,  I  say ; 
don't  be  so  obstinate  in  addition  to  everything  else." 

All  was  still. 

Then  the  old  woman  crept  downstairs  with  a 
beating  heart,  the  door-key  in  her  hand,  and  care- 
fully unlocked  the  door. 

"  Hilda  !  "   The  street  was  lonely  and  deserted. 

"  Good  Heavens  !  "  murmured  Aunt  Polly,  as  she 
shut  the  door  again  and  stood  quite  dumfounded 
in  the  cold,  dark  entry,  reeking  with  the  odor  of 
vegetables.  "  Good  Heavens  !  where  can  she  be  ? 
If  she  should  have  done  anything  desperate,  out  of 
fear  of  her  father — if  she  should  have  jumped  into 
the  Elbe " 


Misjudged.  167 


Aunt  Polly  was  in  a  state  of  nervous  terror  ;  she 
groped  her  way  to  the  bedroom  of  the  grocery- 
woman  and  knocked. 

"Frau  Hemicke,  open  the  door;  something  has 
happened." 

The  stout  grocer-woman  appeared  with  a  lamp  in 
her  hand,  quite  startled. 

"  Good  gracious,  my  dear  Frau  Berger,  what  is 
the  matter  ? " 

Aunt  Polly  was  as  pale  as  a  ghost. 

"  Frau  Hemicke,"  she  stammered,  "  my  Hilda  is 
gone — only  think  of  it  !  She  ran  off  just  after  the 
Christmas-tree,  and  left  me  sitting  there,  half-dead 
with  anxiety,  till  twelve  o'clock,  and  when  at  last 
she  rang  the  bell  I  was  angry,  and  I  called  down  to. 
her  that  she  might  just  go  back  where  she  came 
from.  She  took  it  in  dudgeon,  and  now  she  is 
gone.  If  she  only  hasn't  jumped  into  the  Elbe, 
because  I  said  I  had  written  to  her  father.  Ah, 
what  an  unlucky  woman  I  am  !  What  shall  I  do 
now  ? " 

"Why,  I  say,  my  dear  Frau  Berger,  that  really 
wasn't  right  of  you.  Good  Heavens,  she  is  sure  to 
have  jumped  in " 

Aunt  Polly  shook  all  over  as  the  woman  good- 
naturedly  continued :  "  Well,  I  don't  know  anything 
else  to  do  now  but  just  to  wait  till  they  find  her. 
People  who  are  drowned  never  come  to  the  surface 
till  three  days  after.  Come,  dear  Frau  Berger, 
don't  take  on  so.  I  will  make  you  a  cup  of  tea,  and 
that  will  quiet  you  down  a  bit.  Ah,  dearie  me, 
what  trouble  children  do  make  for  a  body  !  '* 

**  But,  Frau  Berger,"  now  cried  a  boy's  voice  from 


l68  Misjudged. 


the  shop  itself,  where  the  huckster- woman's  eldest 
son  slept,  "  don't  you  be  worried  about  her.  The 
young  lady  drove  away  with  the  gentleman  who 
used  to  come  to  you  sometimes " 

"Oh,  mercy  on  us!"  screamed  Aunt  Polly.  "I 
would  rather  she  had  jumped  into  the  river !  Oh, 
what  a  miserable  creature  I  am  !  Now  her  parents 
will  say  I  drove  her  to  her  ruin  !  " 

"  Was  it  a  droschky  ? "  the  huckster-woman 
asked  her  son. 

**  No  ;  it  was  a  fine  private  carriage,  and  I  knew 
the  coachman,  too.  His  name  is  Bormann  ;  he  used 
to  be  with  Herr  Lehrbeck,  and  now  he  is  at  Sibyllen- 
burg." 

"  Sibyllenburg  ? "  gasped  Aunt  Polly,  "Sibyllen- 
burg  ?  Who  lives  there  ?  I  must  go  there  to-mor- 
row.    Is  it  very  far  ?     How  shall  I  get  there  ?  " 

Thereupon  both  mother  and  son  gave  a  detailed 
description  of  the  situation  of  Sibyllenburg  and  the 
way  to  get  there,  and  each  contradicted  the  other. 
At  last  Aunt  Polly  only  knew  that  a  train  started 
for  that  place  at  eight  o'clock,  and  then  she  would 
have  a  "  good  piece  "  to  walk.  And  in  a  faint  voice 
she  begged  her  good  Frau  Hernicke  not  to  leave 
her  for  to-night,  for  she  saw  such  horrible  figures  in 
all  the  corners,  and  she  could  not  imagine  what  she 
should  do  if  Hilda  had  really  done  something  dread- 
ful, and  would  not  come  back  to  her. 

The  good-natured  Frau  Hernicke  actually  went 
upstairs  to  her  neighbor's  apartment,  and  the  two 
worthy  dames  made  up  a  fire  in  the  stove  and  made 
some  coffee,  and  Frau  Hernicke  related  to  the  shud- 
dering Frau  Berger  the  most  incredible  tales  of  the. 


Misjudged.  169 


wickedness  of  the  world  at  the  present  day  and  the 
folly  of  young  people  in  a  great  city.  In  the  mean- 
time she  got  together  some  warm  clothing  for  to- 
morrow's journey,  and  Aunt  Polly  cried  and  be- 
wailed her  hard  fate,  and  her  tears  fell  into  the  great 
coffee-cup,  which  she  kept  putting  to  her  lips,  though 
her  trouble  was  so  great  she  could  hardly  swallow. 

At  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning  they  both  went 
to  the  station.  The  poor  little  aunt  had  her  eyes  all 
red  with  crying,  and  her  nose  was  red  with  the  cold, 
and  she  looked  older  and  more  worn  than  ever  ;  and 
as  she  travelled  on  in  the  cold  Christmas  morning, 
she  folded  her  hands  inside  her  mufif  and  prayed  that 
God  would  not  punish  her  violence  and  impatience 
too  severely.  Ah,  in  her  anger  last  night  she  did 
not  remember  that  it  was  a  day  when  love  and  mild- 
ness ought  to  rule.  God  had  given  salvation  to  His 
sinful  children,  and  she  herself — such  a  sinful  mortal 
as  she  was — had  wished  to  judge  and  to  punish,  and 
perhaps  had  even  thrust  a  human  soul  that  had  been 
intrusted  to  her  care,  into  lifelong  misery  ! 

But  who  could  suppose  any  one  would  think  she 
meant  to  shut  her  out  in  earnest  ? 

At  length  Aunt  Polly  found  herself  on  the  small 
platform  of  the  little  station,  and  asked  the  station- 
master  where  Sibyllenburg  was  situated. 

"  Up  there  on  the  hill,  madame,  where  you  see  the 
tower  peeping  through  the  trees.  Just  go  straight 
up,  and  when  you  get  to  the  top  of  the  hill  you  must 
ask  somebody,  for  I  can't  describe  it  to  you  from 
here." 

"  Could  you  tell  me  who  owns  Sibyllenburg  ? " 
she  inquired  again. 


I  JO  Misjudged. 


"  Well,  you  see,  madame,  it  has  changed  hands 
pretty  often  in  the  last  few  years  ;  it  seems  sort  of 
unlucky.  I  am  curious  to  know  how  long  the  man 
who  has  got  it  now  will  keep  it,  if  he  goes  on  as  he 
is  doing  now." 

*'  Who  is  it  ?  "  inquired  Aunt  Polly. 

"  Jussnitz  is  his  name  ;  he's  a  painter." 

The  old  woman  began  to  feel  her  head  whirling 
round.     And  Hildegarde  was  there  ! 

She  murmured  a  few  words  of  thanks  and  went  on 
her  way.  All  the  stories  of  elopements  that  she  had 
ever  read,  and  those  which  Frau  Hernicke  had  re- 
lated to  her  the  night  before,  seemed  to  be  going 
over  and  over  in  her  head.  Ah,  Aunt  Polly  felt  as 
if  she  should  jump  into  the  water  herself,  for  she 
would  be  held  responsible  for  this  result.  She  had 
always  said  that  that  Zweidorf  girl  had  passionate 
blood  in  her,  and — ah,  good  Heavens,  how  true  it 
was  !  If  Berger  had  lived  to  see  this  !  No  one 
could  be  trusted.  How  proudly  the  girl  had  de- 
fended herself  from  suspicion  ;  and  he — God  forgive 
him  for  betraying  that  poor,  inexperienced  child  ! 

She  was  quite  out  of  breath  when  she  reached 
the  wrought-iron  gate  ;  she  had  been  hurrying  as 
if  it  were  a  matter  of  life  and  death.  And  there 
stood  the  castle  behind  the  bare  branches  of  the 
linden-trees,  looking  so  stately  and  so  home-like. 
Lace  curtains  gleamed  out  behind  the  bright  panes, 
and  in  one  of  the  upper  windows  a  mass  of 
hyacinths  and  lilies-of-the-valley  was  in  bloom, 
making  a  little  spring  in  itself.  But  Aunt  Polly 
did  not  see  the  woman's  fair  head  against  which  a 
child's  sunny  curls  were  nestling. 


Misjudged,  171 


**  What  did  you  wish  ? "  asked  a  stately  servant 
in  blue  velvet  small-clothes  and  a  leather-colored 
coat,  who  opened  the  door. 

"Is  there  a  young  lady  here  by  the  name  of 
Zweidorf?" 

"Yes." 

"  I  am  her  aunt,  and  I  would  like  to  see  her.** 

"  Very  well ;  will  you  come  in  ?  " 

Aunt  Polly  went  into  the  houje  ;  Antje  saw  her 
go  in  from  her  window  upstairs.  The  young  wife 
had  come  back  from  church,  had  taken  refuge  iu 
her  little  room,  and  had  sat  down  by  the  window 
with  her  little  Mousie,  her  heart  full  of  care  and 
anxiety,  but  also  full  again  of  courage  and  deter- 
mination. 

"  That  must  be  her  aunt,  Mousie,"  she  said. 

Some  time  passed,  and  then  the  servant  came  to 
Antje  and  reported  that  Fraulein  von  Zweidorf  re- 
fused to  see  her  aunt,  and  the  old  lady  was  crying 
bitterly  and  begging  him  to  take  her  to  the  young 
lady,  but  she  had  locked  herself  into  her  room. 

Antje  gave  orders  to  bring  the  lady  to  her.  She 
set  the  child  down  on  the  carpet  and  went  to  meet 
Aunt  Polly,  who  appeared  on  the  threshold  with 
wondering,  tear-stained  eyes. 

"  I  have  the  pleasure  of  speaking  to  Frau  Ber- 
ger  ?"  inquired  Antje. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  stammered  the  little  woman, 
quite  upset. 

"And  I  am  Frau  Jussnitz,"  continued  Antje, 
kindly.  "  Will  you  not  sit  down  and  throw  off  your 
cloak  ?  You  have  come  for  your  niece,  I  suppose, 
and  Fraulein  Hilda  is  offended  and  will  not  see 


172  Misjudged, 


you — isn't  that  the  case  ?  But  you  ought  not  to 
have  been  so  severe  last  night  when  my  husband 
and  I  brought  her  home  ;  it  is  not  every  one  who 
could  put  up  with  that." 

Antje  smiled  as  she  spoke  and  untied  the  old 
woman's  bonnet-strings.  Aunt  Polly  submitted 
passively  ;  she  could  not  have  managed  it  herself  in 
her  agitation. 

"  Fraulein  Hildegarde  went  to  a  little  party  undei 
my  protection,"  continued  Antje.  "  She  represented 
a  tableau  vivant  in  her  Spanish  costume  to  pleasfl 
my  husband,  who  is  painting  her,  as  you  know 
She  ought  to  have  told  you  of  it,  of  course,  but  it 
was  a  sudden  thought  ;  and  I  hope  you  are  no 
longei  angry  with  the  poor  child,  and  you  will  allow 
her  to  stay  with  us  a  few  weeks,  will  you  not  ?  " 

Aunt  Polly  sat  speechless  on  the  sofa ;  she  ha<[ 
not  a  word  to  say.  She  could  not  yet  grasp  th^ 
fact  that  she  was  sitting  here  with  the  wife  of  the 
man  who,  she  had  firmly  believed,  loved  Hilda  and 
was  loved  by  her  in  return.  The  affair  had  taken 
on  a  new  aspect,  and  a  better  one,  thank  God  \ 
But  the  child,  the  poor  child  ! 

"  We  had  no  idea, "  she  stammered  out  in  her 
confusion,  "  that  Herr  Jussnitz  was  married —  f 
beg  your  pardon,  but  I  thought,  I  believed " 

Antje  turned  pale.  Her  grieved,  wondering  look 
pierced  the  old  lady's  heart,  and  gave  her  a  glim- 
mering of  the  truth. 

"  I  mean — we  never  thought  about  it,"  she  went 
on,  awkwardly.  "  What  business  was  it  of  ours  ? 
Hilda  had  nothing  to  do  with  Herr  Jussnitz  except 
to   stand  still  while  he  painted  her,  and  I  alwayf 


Misjudged.  1 73 


went  with  her.  And  then  you  know,  gracious  lady, 
we  did  not  talk  very  much,  for  Herr  Jussnitz  always 
is  so  occupied  with  his  painting,  and  we  were  always 
in  a  hurry  to  get  home.  Besides,  we  live  so  quietly, 
and  the  people  we  know  do  not  know  Herr  Jussnitz, 
and  that  is  how  it  happened  that  we  never  knew 
that  Herr  Jussnitz  was  married.  If  Hilda  had 
known  it  she  would  have  come  out  here  to  call  and 
pay  her  respects  to  you,  madame,  because  Herr 
Jussnitz  knows  her  family,  and " 

She  stopped,  quite  out  of  breath  and  in  great 
confusion. 

"  My  husband  is  so  wrapped  up  in  his  art  that 
when  he  is  painting  he  forgets  everything  else,"  said 
Antje,  smiling  with  pale  lips.  "  You  must  not  be 
offended  at  that,  my  dear  Frau  Berger ;  he  did  not 
mean  the  least  rudeness  to  Fraulein  Hildegarde, 
though  he  did  not  mention  me  or  ask  her  to  come 
and  see  me.  He  was  simply  entirely  taken  up  with 
his  work.  For  the  artist  who  is  creating  a  picture, 
the  outer  world  does  not  exist." 

Then  she  got  up  and  brought  her  child. 

"  Come,  give  your  hand  to  the  lady.  Don't  you 
thinks  he  is  very  like  my  husband,  Frau  Berger  ? " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Aunt  Polly,  with  her  eyes  full  of 
tears  as  she  stroked  the  child's  head.  "  But  excuse 
me,  Frau  Jussnitz.  I  would  like  to  try  again  to  see 
Hildegarde.  I  am  not  angry  with  her.  I  am  only 
sorry  for  her,  and  I  think  it  will  be  better  for  her  to 
go  with  me.     I  want  to  urge  her  to  it  if  I  may." 

"  I  will  willingly  take  you  to  her  room,  and  try  to 
persuade  Fraulein  Hilda  to  see  you,"  replied  Antje. 

When  the  young  wife   presented  herself  at  the 


174  Misjudged. 


young  girl's  door,  it  was  opened,  and  Frau  Polly 
slipped  in. 

It  was  a  very  pleasant  room  which  had  been  as- 
signed to  Hildegarde.  Hung  entirely  with  gay  cre- 
tonne, it  formed  a  sort  of  tent ;  the  bed,  sofa,  and 
chairs  were  covered  with  a  similar  stuff.  A  soft, 
flowery  carpet  covered  the  floor,  and  a  rocking-chair 
was  still  in  motion  in  front  of  the  tall  mirror  which 
reached  to  the  floor.  In  the  elegant  fireplace  a 
bright  fire  was  burning. 

"  Is  it  really  you  ?  "  escaped  Aunt  Polly's  lips, 
when  she  had  closed  the  door  behind  her  ;  and  she 
looked  in  amazement  at  the  slender,  beautiful  girl, 
who,  in  a  loose,  pale  pink  morning-dress  belonging 
to  Antje — the  same  which  the  young  wife  had  once 
ordered  to  surprise  her  husband  on  their  wedding- 
day,  and  which  she  had  never  worn — looked  so  won- 
derfully handsome,  and  as  if  the  tasteful  gown  had 
been  made  expressly  for  her. 

Hildegarde  stood  there  with  an  inscrutable  face, 
her  lips  pressed  tightly  together.  But  Aunt  Polly 
had  long  since  forgotten  that  she  had  ever  been 
angry.  She  only  remembered  that  the  child's  beau- 
tiful future  had  suddenly  come  to  naught. 

"You  poor  thing,"  she  said,  compassionately, 
while  the  tears  streamed  from  her  eyes,  "  if  I  had 
only  known  before  what  I  know  now,  you  would  not 
have  heard  a  single  cross  word  from  me.  Forget  it 
all,  my  Hilda,  and  come  home  with  me  ;  you  cannot 
Stay  here  ! " 

But  Hilda  was  not  one  of  those  persons  who 
easily  forget  an  insult,  nor  did  she  find  it  any  easier 
to  bear  commiseration. 


Misjudged.  175 


**I  shall  stay  here,  aunt,"  she  said,  coldly,  "  and 
when  my  portrait  is  finished,  I  shall  probably  go " 

She  stopped,  and  twisted  the  pink  ribbons  of  her 
dress  about  her  finger  in  some  confusion. 

"  Hilda,  what  will  you  do  here  ?  Let  the  picture 
go,  let  him  finish  it  as  best  he  may.  Why  should 
you  make  such  trouble  for  yourself  ?  It  cuts  me  to 
the  heart  when  I  look  at  you  ;  it  is  such  a  horrible 
shame  that  he  should  not  have  told  you  that  he 
was  married.  Come,  Hilda,  this  is  no  place  for 
you. 

*'  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  aunt  I "  replied 
her  youthful  niece,  very  slowly.  Her  pale  lips 
scarcely  moved.     "  I " 

"  Hilda,  suppose  it  were  your  father  urging  you  ! 
You  could  not  refuse  him  ?  Be  frank  with  me — 
you  love  this  man ;  can  you  deny  it  ?  Good 
Heavens,  child,  don't  shake  your  head ;  every 
feature  of  your  face,  every  step  you  took,  has  be- 
trayed it  all  this  time  !  I  beg  of  you,  child,  come 
home  with  me  ;  you  ought  not  to  stay  here." 

**  I  have  never  thought  of  him,"  said  Hilda,  in 
the  same  slow  manner,  and  she  turned  away  and 
walked  to  the  window. 

"  Hilda,  that  is  not  true ! "  said  Frau  Berger, 
firmly,  and  her  face  wore  an  air  of  solemnity  ;  "  it  is 
not  true  !  You  love  him,  and  he  loves  you  !  I  am 
an  old  woman,  and  I  know  how  things  go  in  this 
world.  But  you  will  be  committing  a  frightful  sin 
if  you  stay  here,  a  sin  against  yourself,  against  him, 
and  against  his  wife  and  her  child.  Only  consider, 
for  Heaven's  sake,  what  will  come  of  it !  " 

"  I  forbid  you  to  say  such  things  to  me ! "  cried 


176  Misjuifged. 


Hilda,  crimson  with  anger,  and  stamping  her  foot  on 
the  carpet.  '*  Must  you  needs  drag  everything  down 
into  the  mire  ?  Can  there  be  no  relations  in  the 
world  between  two  persons  that  are  left  unstained 
by  vile  thoughts  ?  It  is  quite  true  that  I  am 
fond  of  my  teacher,  and  as  certain  that  he  thinks  a 
good  deal  of  me  ;  but  is  that  wicked  ?  I  forbid 
you  to  put  a  vile  construction  upon  it !  " 

The  poor  little  aunt  looked  quite  paralyzed  with 
fright.  Could  it  be  possible,  then,  that  she  had  been 
so  mistaken  ?  But  no,  it  was  only  pride,  that  old 
Zweidorf  pride,  which  constrained  the  girl  to  deny 
her  love  and  her  bitter  disappointment ;  which  con- 
strained her  to  stay  here  so  that  he  might  come  to 
believe  in  her  indifference  to  him,  and  that  it  did 
not  make  her  at  all  unhappy  to  see  him  beside  his 
wife.  The  poor,  foolish  child  had  no  idea  of  the 
abyss  on  the  brink  of  which  she  was  standing,  and 
it  made  Aunt  Polly's  heart  bleed  to  see  the  traces 
of  unspeakable  anguish  in  her  face,  the  great,  dark 
semi-circles  under  her  eyes,  and  the  quivering 
lips. 

"  Hilda,"  she  began  again,  "  I  am  willing  to 
believe  that  you  do  not  particularly  care  for  him  ; 
but  if  I  were  in  your  place  I  would  net  stay  here,  for 
you  must  have  seen  that  he  likes  you.  You  do  not 
know  the  world.  You  do  not  mean  any  harm,  but 
you  have  no  idea  how  easy  it  is  to  come  between 
husband  and  wife  when  one  is  a  third  person  in  the 
house.  It  is  a  very  delicate  situation,  Hilda — often 
it  is  only  some  trifling  thing  on  which  the  happiness 
or  misery  of  a  whole  family  depends.  Hilda,  you 
must  remember  how  he  used  to  look  at  you.    Do 


Misjudged.  \ii 


not  stay  here,  come  with  me ;  I  have  never  meant 
anything  but  good  by  you,  even  though  I  may 
sometimes  have  been  cross.  I  have  always  done 
my  duty  as  well  as  I  could.  If  you  will  only  trust 
to  me  a  little  this  time  !  " 

"You  are  conjuring  up  spectres,  aunt,"  declared 
Hilda,  inexorably.  "  I  should  be  silly  and  ungrate- 
ful if  I  did  not  stay  here." 

Aunt  Polly  was  silent  for  a  while,  and  followed 
her  niece  with  her  eyes  as  she  walked  slowly  up 
ar  '  do  vn, 

"  H.o  young  wife  looked  so  pale,  Hilda,  and  as  if 
siie  had  been  crying,"  she  said  at  length. 

"  Good  Heavens  !  is  that  my  fault  ? "  cried  the 
girl,  stopping  in  her  walk  and  clasping  her  hands. 

"  Perhaps  ;  one  can  never  be  sure,  Hilda." 

"  But  she  asked  me  to  stay  herself,  so  the  picture 
might  be  finished." 

"  Ah,  child,  people  sometimes  ask  things  with 
their  lips,  and  their  hearts  cry  out  against  it  all  the 
time." 

Hilda  covered  her  ears  angrily.  "  I  know  what 
I  am  about,  aunt,  and  I  shall  send  off  a  letter  to 
papa  which  will  explain  yours.  Papa  knows  me 
better  than  you  do." 

"  Why,  Hilda,  what  do  you  think  of  me  ?  I  did 
not  writo,  and  I  am  not  going  to.  I  only  said  so 
last  night  because  I  was  angry.  Come,  child,  come 
with  me  !  " 

"  I  shall  stay  here  !  "  cried  the  young  girl,  an- 
grily. "  If  I  were  to  go  with  you  I  should  be  as 
good  as  confessing  that  I " 

"  That  you  love  him  and  are  going  away  because 

12 


178  Misjudged. 


he  has  deceived  you,  and  because  you  are  far  too 
proud  and  too  good  to " 

"  He  has  not  deceived  me,  and  I — I  do  not  love 
him  !  "  interrupted  Hilda,  violently. 

"Can  a  man  become  indifferent  to  you  in  a 
minute,  Hilda  ?  Is  that  possible  ?  Are  you  not 
deceiving  yourself  ?  " 

*'  There,  that  is  enough,  aunt.  I  shall  stay  here, 
and  that  is  all  there  is  about  it.  Be  so  kind  as 
to  pack  up  my  few  things  and  send  them  to  me 
here." 

"  You  will  get  fearfully  spoiled  here,"  said  Aunt 
Polly,  nodding  gravely,  "  When  a  girl  has  once 
worn  a  thing  like  that" — pointing  to  the  gown 
Hilda  had  on — "  she  doesn't  find  her  own  shabby 
clothes  comfortable  any  more.  Well,  good-by, 
then,  Hilda.  I  shall  write  to  your  father  now  and 
tell  him " 

"  That  you  are  to  blame  for  my  coming  here  ; 
only  tell  him  that  !  "  cried  the  girl,  with  angry 
tears. 

"  Yes,  but  all  the  rest  of  it,  too,  and  that  you 
would  not  take  the  hand  that  was  stretched  out  to 
save  you,  and  that  you  shut  your  ears  to  my  words 
of  warning.  Good-by,  Hilda,  and  look  at  his 
young  wife's  eyes  carefully,  and  see  that  they  do 
not  shed  tears  on  your  account." 

And  Aunt  Polly  hid  her  sobbing  face  in  her 
handkerchief  and  went  toward  the  door.  But 
there  her  anger  and  anxiety  got  the  upper  hand 
again,  and  she  turned  back. 

"  Do  what  you  like,  then,  in  Heaven's  name  ! 
You  wouldn't  listen  to  me  !  " 


Misjudged.  179 


The  door  banged  to  behind  her,  and  red  with 
anger  and  grief,  she  descended  the  stairs  and  left 
the  house  without  taking  leave  of  its  mistress. 

Antje  saw  her  go  as  she  had  seen  her  come,  and 
a  sigh  escaped  her.  The  round  little  body  trotted 
away  so  hurriedly,  as  if  she  and  her  niece  had 
parted  in  anger.  Hilda  would  not  be  reconciled 
to  her,  then  ;  she  was  going  to  stay  I 


CHAPTER  XII. 

Yes,  she  was  going  to  stay  !  But  for  the  present 
nothing  was  seen  of  her.  She  excused  herself  on 
the  plea  of  fatigue  when  she  was  asked  to  come 
to  the  table,  and  when  Antje  reluctantly  went  to 
see  her  in  her  room,  she  found  the  young  girl  lying 
on  the  lounge  looking  up  at  the  ceiling.  Her  in- 
quiries for  her  health  were  received  with  curt 
thanks.  Antje  sat  beside  her  in  silence  for  some 
time,  or  occasionally  addressed  a  civil  question  to 
her — whether  she  liked  her  room,  or  if  she  had 
all  she  wanted — only  to  receive  a  short,  "  Thanks, 
yes,"  and  then  she  left  her,  thankful  when  she  was 
back  in  her  own  lonely  room. 

The  young  girl's  belongings  were  sent  to  her 
by  Aunt  Polly,  and  when  Antje  went  to  pay  her 
duty  visit  to  Hilda  on  the  day  after  Christmas,  the 
room  had  taken  on  a  quite  different  aspect.  The 
young  girl  had  spread  out  all  her  modest  decorations 
and  had  given  her  new  home  an  artistic  air.  Her 
water-colors  peeped  out  of  the  folds  of  the  wall- 
draperies  ;  masses  of  scarlet  poppies,  which  she  knew 
how  to  make  in  wonderful  imitation  of  nature,  hung 
over  the  picture-frames  and  filled  the  vases  on  the 
mantel-piece.  The  easel  had  found  a  place  by  tlie 
window,  and  she  herself  was  standing  before  the 
mirror  in  her  black  cashmere  dress,  fastening  a 
broad,  gayly-striped  Roman  apron  around  her  waist 


Misjudged.  i8i 


so  that  the  long  ends  of  the  ribbons  tied  at  the  back 
set  off  the  simple  frock  admirably. 

"  How  nice  you  have  made  it  look  !  "  said  Antje, 
but  she  got  no  other  answer  than  a  drawling  "  Oh  !  " 
that  was  intended  to  sound  modest,  but  which  really 
was  only  rude. 

"  Will  you  come  to  supper  with  us  this  evening  ?  " 
inquired  Antje,  with  unaltered  friendliness. 

"  If  you  will  allow  me,  yes." 

"  And  this  afternoon  ?  Would  you  like  to  go  to 
walk?" 

"  I  have  some  letters  to  write." 

"  Then  we  shall  see  you  at  eight  o'clock.  The 
gentlemen,  who  are  invited  out  to  dinner,  expect 
to  be  back  between  six  and  seven.  Till  eight, 
then." 

Antje  also  sat  down  to  write  a  letter.  She  wished 
to  finish  one  to  her  mother  which  she  had  begun 
some  time  before.  But  she  was  interrupted  by  the 
entrance  of  the  servant. 

'■  Gracious  lady,  there  is  some  one  here  who  is 
very  anxious  to  speak  to  Herr  Jussnitz.  He  insists 
upon  waiting  for  him." 

"  Who  is  it  ?  " 

'*  He  says  his  name  is  Grabe.  He  asked  if  he 
could  see  the  gracious  lady." 

Antje  assented. 

A  few  minutes  after  a  meagre,  rather  well-dressed 
man  appeared,  who  introduced  himself  as  the  head 
of  a  Dresden  antiquarian  shop,  and  thereupon 
began  to  excuse  himself  for  being  obliged  to  in- 
trude on  such  a  day.  But  he  thought  that  in  this 
way,  after  several  vain  attempts  to  find  Herr  Juss- 


1 82  Misjudged. 


nitz,  he  might  meet  him,  and  he  hoped  the  gra- 
cious lady  would  excuse  him  for — it  was  only 
urgent  necessity — the  firm  was  rather  embarrassed 
just  now 

"  Pray  speak  plainly,"  said  Antje ;  "what  is  it  you 
want  ?  " 

"If  it  were  possible,  the  payment  of  our  bill, 
gracious  lady." 

"  Has  not  my  husband  paid  yet  for  fitting  up  his 
studio  in  Dresden  ?  " 

"  We  have  not  had  the  honor  of  fitting  up  a  studio 
for  Herr  Jussnitz  in  Dresden.  It  is  only — it  is  for 
the  furniture  here,  gracious  lady." 

"  What  !  "  cried  Antje,  drawing  her  handkerchief 
across  her  forehead,  which  flushed  suddenly. 

"  Yes,  madame.  Herr  Jussnitz  bought  some  rare 
pieces  for  his  studio  here  two  years  ago,  and,  as  I 
have  already  said,  we  are  not  able  to  wait  any  longer 
for  our  pay." 

"  I  will  speak  to  my  husband  about  it,"  said  Antje. 
"  Give  me  the  bill — how  high  is  it  ?  I  do  not  really 
know  when  my  husband  will  be  at  home." 

The  man  civilly  handed  her  an  open  bill. 

'*  Herr  Jussnitz  promised  faithfully  to  pay  by  the 
first  of  October.  Unfortunately,  he  did  not  keep 
his  promise,  and " 

Antje  uttered  a  horrified  exclamation,  "  But,  my 
dear  sir  !  " — which  checked  his  flow  of  words.  She 
had  glanced  at  the  bill,  and  now  looked,  with  pale 
lips,  at  the  man  standing  before  her. 

"  Eight  thousand  marks  ?  " 

"  Eight  thousand  marks,  madame." 

She  turned  away  and  laid  the  bill  on  the  table. 


Misjudged.  183 


"  Yes,  it  is  all  right ;  I  remember  now,"  she  said 
with  difficulty.  "  My  husband  will  settle  it  before 
the  New  Year — I — he — "  She  moved  several  books 
from  one  place  to  another.  "  Then  Herr  Jussnitz 
will — I  thank  you,  sir." 

The  stranger  had  expected  to  get  his  money  at 
once. 

"  Madame — perhaps  a  little  on  account,"  he  be- 
gan, "  so  we  could  at  least " 

"  Sir,  in  this  matter  I  can  do  nothing  without 
my  husband,"  she  said,  curtly  and  decidedly.  "I 
will  give  him  the  bill  this  evening,  and  that  is  all 
I  can  promise  for  the  present." 

**  Very  well,  madame." 

Antje  sat  still  for  a  long  time  after  the  man  had 
left  the  room.  At  length  she  stretched  out  her 
hand  for  the  bill, 

"  One  fan,  Watteau,  formerly  belonging  to  Marie 
Antoinette— rthree  thousand  marks " 

That  must  be  that  fragile  thing  that  lay  half 
open  on  the  carved  table  in  her  rococo  boudoir, 
carelessly  flung  down  as  if  it  had  been  forgotten — 
three  thousand  marks  ! 

"One  Gobelin  tapestry,  real  Flanders,  fifteenth 
century — *  Marie  of  Burgundy  riding  to  the  Chase.' " 

Antje  recalled  the  faded  greenish-gray  hanging 
that  hung  between  the  pictures  in  the  studio, 
on  which  one  could  vaguely  see  a  noble  lady  on 
horseback  with  a  falcon  on  her  wrist.  This  was 
marked  two  thousand  marks  ! 

And  then  followed  some  weapons  and  a  rococo 
clock.  This,  too,  was  in  Antje's  boudoir.  It  bore 
as  decoration  a  rose- wreathed  shepherdess,  with  her 


184  Misjudged. 


crook  and  a  lamb,  and  behind  a  rose-bush  crouched 
a  little  Cupid.     Fifteen  hundred  marks  ! 

The  young  wife  sat  still,  with  her  hands  clasped. 
She  thought  of  her  old  father — of  how  he  had 
toiled,  and  how  modest  he  had  been  in  his  wants ; 
with  what  difficulty  he  had  once  made  up  his  mind 
to  buy  a  somewhat  more  elegant  carriage  with  his 
hard-earned  money,  because  it  was  only  a  luxury 
and  because  they  had  had  such  happy  drives  to- 
gether in  the  shabby  old  coach.  Ah,  it  is  so  hor- 
rible to  love  a  man  and  to  be  forced  to  make  com- 
parisons so  unfavorable  to  him  !  All  the  feeling 
of  the  solid  old  burgher  family  was  awakened 
within  her  ;  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  people  must  be 
pointing  at  her  with  their  fingers  wherever  she 
went.  Oh,  God  !  But  what  were  all  these  cares 
to  the  pain  she  had  felt  yesterday  ! 

Antje  went  down  into  the  dining-room,  and  as 
usual  her  eyes  glanced  over  the  table,  but  it  all 
seemed  quite  strange  to  her.  A^  length  she  heard 
the  carriage  roll  into  the  court-yard  and  the  eager 
voice  of  her  husband  inquiring  :  "  Where  are  the 
ladies  ? " 

He  came  in  immediately  after,  still  in  his  fur 
coat,  with  a  package  under  his  arm  and  looking  as 
men  are  wont  to  look  after  a  good  dinner — gay 
and  comfortable. 

"  Good  evening,"  he  said.  "  Is  Fraulein  von 
Zweidorf  not  coming  to  supper  ?  " 

"  Yes,  she  is  coming." 

"  What  have  you  been  doing  to-day  ?  "  he  asked, 
with  a  good-natured  air. 

*'  I  have  been  writing  to  my  mother." 


Misjudged.  185 


"And  Hilda?" 

"Fraulein  von  Zweidorf  ?  I  don't  know.  She 
said  she  was  going  to  write  letters  too." 

"  I  thought  you  would  have  made  friends  when 
you  were  alone  together,"  he  said  as  he  gave  his 
coat  and  hat  to  the  servant,  smoothed  his  hair  be- 
fore the  glass,  and  twisted  his  mustache.  "That 
fellow  Maiberg  must  have  taken  offence  some- 
how," he  added.  "  He  says  he  is  going  away,  and 
wouldn't  speak  a  word  to  me  the  whole  way. 
Well,  he  can  do  as  he  likes  !  " 

He  stopped  speaking  as  Maiberg  made  his  ap- 
pearance, holding  open  the  door  for  Hilda. 

"  Ah,  Fraulein  von  Zweidorf,"  cried  Leo  as  she 
came  in,  "  how  do  you  do  ?  You  see,  the  air  ot 
your  room  does  not  agree  with  you.  You  have 
grown  quite  pale  in  these  last  two  days.  Now  give 
me  your  attention,  for  I  have  had  such  a  stroke  of 
luck  !  Some  people  are  absolute  barbarians  ;  they 
possess  the  greatest  treasures  without  having  an 
idea  of  it." 

As  he  spoke  he  went  up  to  the  table  on  which  he 
had  put  down  his  package,  and  began  to  open  the 
latter  carefully. 

"  Only  fancy.  Colonel  Bemdorf  had  a  piece  of  most 
precious  old  Meissen  j>orcelain,  and  he  declared  he 
was  going  to  give  the  ugly  thing  to  his  quartermaster 
for  a  wedding-present,  as  he  couldn't  bear  to  see  the 
distorted  figures  and  wouldn't  put  anything  into  the 
vase  because  the  three  women  would  spoil  his  appe- 
tite. Just  look  at  them,  the  three  Graces  !  And  a 
quartermaster  was  to  have  one  of  the  most  celebrated 
pieces  in  the  whole  factory  for  a  wedding-present  ! 


1 86  Misjudged. 


I  raised  a  howl,  and  he  wanted  to  give  me  the  thing, 
but  I  bought  it  of  him,  for,  of  course,  I  couldn't  be 
under  obligations  to  him.  Between  ourselves,  the 
piece  is  worth  a  thousand  marks,  but  we  agreed  on 
three  hundred.  Well,  what  do  you  say  ?  Isn't  it 
a  beauty  ?  " 

Hildegarde  stood  beside  him  with  a  pale  face  and 
with  eyes  that  had  worn  a  deeply  melancholy  look 
since  Christmas.  Leo  held  up  the  vase  and  they 
both  looked  at  it.  Antje  looked  up  at  them  for  a 
moment  from  her  tea-urn,  but  she  did  not  speak. 
No  one  had  asked  her  opinion. 

"  Yes,  it  is  very  beautiful,"  replied  Hilda. 
'  It  will  go  well  in  my  wife's  boudoir,"  continued 
Leo.     "  Look  at  it,  Antje." 

"  Thank  you,  you  would  better  put  it  in  your 
own  studio  ;  it  is  much  too  expensive  for  me,"  she 
replied,  and  was  startled  herself  at  the  harshness 
with  which  she  had  spoken. 

"  Do  you  mean  by  that  that  the  vase  does  not 
meet  with  your  approbation  and  that  you  think  it  a 
foolish  expenditure  ?  Well,  you  can  set  your  mind 
at  rest,  for  the  money  did  not  come  out  of  your 
highness's  purse." 

A  sad  smile  flitted  across  her  flushed  face.  Juss- 
nitz  saw  it,  and  it  irritated  him  so  that  he  forgot  the 
presence  of  Hildegarde  and  Maiberg  and  exclaimed, 
scornfully  : 

*'  I  bought  this  vase  with  money  which  I  earned 
myself — if  you  must  know,  I  have  sold  a  picture  in 
Berlin.  And  now  you  can  write  to  your  mother  that 
I  wasted  the  first  money  I  have  earned  since  our 
marriage  in  buying  rubbish,  as  she  in  her  ignorance 


Misjudged.  187 


is  pleased  to  call  it,  instead  of  giving  it  to  you  to 
pay  the  butcher  and  baker.  She  will  be  sure  to 
sympathize  with  you." 

Antje,  who  was  just  pouring  out  the  tea,  shivered 
slightly,  but  made  no  reply.  Maiberg  rustled  his 
newspaper  as  if  he  were  not  listening,  and  Hilda 
had  withdrawn  into  one  of  the  deep  embrasures  of 
the  window.  There  was  a  peculiar  smile  on  her  lips, 
as  if  she  were  glad  he  should  suffer  from  the  narrow- 
ness of  the  "  nonentity  "  whom  he  had  chosen. 

They  sat  down  silently  at  the  table  ;  no  one  felt 
in  the  mood  to  open  the  conversation.  The  dishes 
were  passed  round,  and  no  sound  was  heard  but  the 
clattering  of  plates  and  forks.  It  was  hot  and  close 
in  the  room.  Suddenly  there  sounded  a  welcome 
voice  from  outside,  and  the  gay,  infectious  laugh  of 
the  Baroness,  and  a  moment  later  she  came  in,  ac- 
companied by  the  two  Fraulein  von  Benken,  Col- 
onel von  Barrenberg,  and  the  inevitable  Lieutenant 
von  Osten. 

"  We  should  not  venture  to  intrude  upon  our 
good  friends  and  neighbors  like  this  if  it  were  not 
a  very  special  occasion,"  cried  Irene  von  Erlach. 
"  My  dear  Herr  Jussnitz,  do  you  notice  anything 
unusual  about  us  ?  Guess  what  has  happened — - 
and  you,  too,  Maiberg.  Fraulein  von  Zweidorf,  how 
do  I  look  to  you  ?  " 

When  the  Baroness  appeared  in  any  company 
she  had  the  effect  of  champagne,  or  a  Strauss  waltz. 
And  to-day  more  than  ever  ! 

"  I  have  done  a  horribly  silly  thing,"  she  contin- 
ued, "  and  I  warn  you  all  against  following  my  ex- 
ample. If  I  had  not  got  tired  of  the  everlasting  teas- 


1 88  Misjudged. 


ing,  then — well,  to  cut  it  short,  here  stands  " — and 
she  stretched  up  her  hand  to  the  smiling  Barren- 
berg  and  caught  him  by  his  unusually  well-waxed 
mustache — "  here  stands  my  future  husband  !  " 

She  clapped  her  hands  as  if  amazed  at  herself, 
and  laughed  so  heartily  that  they  all  joined  in, 
and  Leo  the  loudest  of  all.  "  Bravo  !  An  engage- 
ment !  We  must  celebrate  it  !  "  he  cried.  "  Antje, 
order  in  some  champagne." 

Antje  obediently  gave  the  order,  and  when  the 
champagne  came  she  clinked  her  glass  with  the 
betrothed  pair,  gravely  but  pleasantly. 

'*  I  wish  you  great  happiness,  all  happiness  !  " 
she  said  with  moistened  eyes. 

"  And  why  shouldn't  we  be  happy  ? "  laughed  the 
bride.  "  We  do  not  take  life  so  tragically,  do  we, 
Wilhelm  ?     We  will  try  how    it    goes    together — 

d!) 



"  Well — and  ?  "  said  Maiberg,  playfully. 

"  And  if  it  doesn't  go " 

"  I  say,  Irene,  that  sounds  promising,"  interrupted 
her  betrothed. 

"  Well,  if  it  doesn't  go,  we  will  get  a  divorce," 
she  finished,  putting  her  little  hand  against  his  iips, 
and  he  kissed  it  with  an  embarrassed  smile. 

Antje  went  quietly  back  to  her  place. 

''  Bravo,  Barrenberg  !  "  said  Leo.  "  You  will 
never  be  bored." 

"  Bored  ? "  cried  Frau  von  Erlach.  "  Boredom 
is  the  mother  of  all  vices.  In  my  opinion,  a  wife 
cannot  do  anything  more  foolish  than  allow  her 
husband  to  feel  bored." 

"  Very  comforting  for  me,"  said  the  happy  lover. 


Misjudged.  i  8q 


"There  are  a  great  many  ways  of  banishing 
ennui"  remarked  Maiberg,  carelessly,  "  but  it  is  a 
question  whether  the  opposite  of  ennui  always 
means  happiness." 

"  A  hundred  thousand  ways,"  chimed  in  Irene, 
ignoring  the  last  remark  •  "  only  amiability  is  not 
one  of  them,  as  is  so  often  erroneously  taken  for 
granted.  No  man  can  put  up  with  that  for  long. 
Instead,  a  little — but  I  will  not  betray  the  secrets 
of  the  prison-house,  for  Fraulein  von  Zweidorf  is 
looking  frightfully  inquisitive  already." 

Antje  turned  like  the  rest  to  look  at  Hilda.  The 
girl's  eyes  flashed  for  a  moment,  then  she  turned 
crimson. 

Jussnitz  looked  at  her  admiringly.  "  Look  like 
that  to-morrow  when  I  paint  you,"  he  cried.  But 
Hilda  did  not  appear  to  have  heard  him. 

"  She  has  a  talent  for  what  I  mean,"  remarked 
Irene  to  Jussnitz.  He  smiled  and  nodded.  Antje 
kept  silence. 

"  Too  silly ! "  whispered  Melly  and  Nelly  to 
each  other.  ' 

After  this  they  had  a  noisy  game  of  cards,  fol- 
lowed by  a  game  of  forfeits.  The  Baroness  was 
gayer  even  than  usual. 

Antje  seated  herself  in  one  of  the  deep  window 
emb;"asures.  She  had  a  bad  headaclie.  Maiberg 
went  up  to  her  and  begged  her  to  go  away.  But 
she  smiled  and  shook  her  head,  Leo  would  not 
like  it,  she  said.  In  truth,  she  did  not  wish  it  her- 
self ;  she  kept  her  eyes  fixed  on  her  husband,  who 
was  continually  appearing  at  Hildegarde's  side, 
although  the  girl  scarcely  deigned  to  speak  to  him, 


IQO  Misjudged. 


and  turned  to  Barrenberg  or  Maiberg  in  all  the 
little  turnings  of  the  game.  Antje  bit  her  lips  as 
she  saw  the  Baroness  smile  at  this,  and  she 
clenched  her  hands.  Why  had  God  suffered  it 
that  Leo  should  have  married  her,  who  never  was 
suited  to  him  ?  And  why  had  He  put  this  un- 
speakable love  and  devotion  into  a  woman's  heart 
so  that  it  must  break  with  the  grief  that  had  come 
to  it  ?  And  she  looked  up  at  Maiberg,  and  could 
not  keep  the  two  heavy  drops  from  trembling  on 
her  eyelashes. 

"  Dear  Dr.  Maiberg,"  she  said,  "now  I  know 
that  Leo  has  sold  a  picture  in  Berlin." 

"  Frau  Jussnitz,"  he  began,  sitting  down  on  a 
little  footstool  so  that  he  had  to  look  up  to  her. 

"  Don't  speak  of  it ;  please  don't  speak  of  it ! " 
she  cried,  forcing  back  her  tears.  But  she  had  to 
turn  her  eyes  away  from  his  true,  anxious  face. 

"What  must  the  person  do  to  whom  this  pledge 
belongs  ?  "  asked  Melly  Benken  at  this  moment. 

"Kiss  Fraulein  von  Zweidorf,"  cried  Nelly,  with 
the  most  innocent  air  in  the  world,  nudging  her  sis- 
ter secretly,  for  she  knew  that  the  latter  had  the 
host's  seal-ring  shut  in  her  hand. 

"  Herr  Jussnitz  !  "  laughed  Melly,  holding  up  the 
ring. 

Antje  saw  the  young  girl's  beautiful  face  turn 
pale,  and  her  eyes  look  at  Leo  Jussnitz  with  an  icy 
expression  as  the  latter  approrched  her  to  put  her 
hand  gallantly  to  his  lips. 

How  well  that  chivalric  air  became  him,  how 
tenderly  deferential  his  expression  was !  Antje 
flushed  as  she   saw   it.     "  My  God,  how   petty   I 


Misjudged,  19' 


have  grown!"  was  the  thought  in  her  heart,  and 
she  twisted  her  hands  in  and  out  in  torture  such 
as  she  had  never  known  before.  **If  I  might  only 
die!"  she  murmured. 

"  Frau  Antje  !  "  These  words,  spoken  in  a  re- 
proachful tone,  caused  her  to  look  at  Maiberg  with 
a  sudden  start. 

Had  she  been  thinking  aloud  ?  She  shuddered 
all  over. 

'*  What  do  you  think,  doctor,"  she  said,  after  a 
while,  slowly  and  rather  thickly  ;  "  would  it  not  be 
better  if  I  were  to  take  the  baby  and  go  to  my 
mother  for  a  while,  on  account  of  her  cough  ?  " 

"  Frau  Jussnitz,  do  not  go,"  he  said,  earnestly. 
"  Pardon  me,  but  it  would  be  cowardly." 

She  looked  at  him  with  her  lovely  eyes  swimming 
in  tears.  "  No,  I  will  not  go,"  she  said,  "  I  will 
not  go !  " 

"  Perhaps  you  will  have  the  goodness  to  pay  a 
little  more  attention  to  your  guests  in  general,"  said 
Leo,  who  suddenly  stood  beside  her.  "  No  doubt 
it  is  very  pleasant  to  sulk  here  in  the  comer,  but — 
I  must  insist,  for  various  reasons,  on  your  cutting 
short  these  tearful  confidences." 

Maiberg  got  up. 

"  Frau  Jussnitz,  I  am  forced  to  leave  your  hos- 
pitable house  to-morrow.  I  shall  have  to  set  off 
early,  and  therefore  I  will  retire  in  good  season. 
Good-by,  and  receive  my  thanks  for  all  your  kind- 
ness and  goodness." 

He  held  the  slender,  trembling  hand  for  a  mo- 
ment in  his  own,  but  he  did  not  see  the  yount 
wife's  face,  which  was  as  sad  as  death. 


192  Misjudged. 


"  Good-by,  Leo,"  he  said  shortly,  turning  to  his 
friend. 

"I  don't  like  such  jokes,"  said  the  latter,  quickly 
and  angrily. 

"I  was  never  more  in  earnest  than  I  am  now,  I 
assure  you  !  Good-by !  I  shall  take  French  leave. 
If  you  have  anything  you  wish  to  say  to  me  to* 
night,  you  will  find  me  still  up,  for  I  have  to  pack 
up  my  things." 

He  looked  back  once  more.  Antje  was  standing 
beside  Barrenberg,  who  was  telling  her  some  story. 
Her  iac6  was  raised  to  his,  but  Maiberg  knew  that 
she  did  not  hear  a  word  he  was  saying. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

Several  weeks  had  passed.  The  March  sun 
was  shining  on  the  walls  of  the  Sibyllenburg  manor- 
house,  the  broad  grass-plats  in  the  garden  had 
taken  on  a  deeper  green,  the  reddish-brown  buds 
were  swelling  on  the  twigs  and  branches  of  the 
shrubs  and  trees,  and  the  beets  were  thrusting  their 
little  green  points  out  of  the  carefully  prepared 
ground,  peeping  timidly  out  at  the  light.  The  cro- 
cuses and  hyacinths  seemed  to  be  asking  if  they 
dared  venture  too,  and  the  old  gardener  shook  his 
head  and  carefully  laid  evergreen  boughs  over  the 
saucy  little  things,  to  protect  them  from  frost  and 
ice,  for  it  could  only  be  a  treacherous  gleam  of 
spring,  and  the  clouds  over  there  still  held  an  ample 
store  of  snow. 

Antje,  with  her  little  daughter  beside  her,  was 
standing  thoughtfully  before  the  old  man,  watching 
him  at  his  work. 

"  With  us  up  in  the  mountains,"  she  said  at  length, 
**  these  things  do  not  come  out  before  April  ;  this 
is  a  sunny  corner  of  the  world. " 

"  Yes,  it  is  a  handsome  place,"  nodded  the  old 
man,  looking  about  him.     "  It  would  be  a  pity,  Frau 
Jussnitz,  if  what  the  people  say  is  true,  that  the 
master  is  thinking  of  selling  this  place." 
13 


194  Misjudged. 


"Do  people  say  that  ?  " 

"They  all  say  so.  I  should  like  to  contradict  it, 
gracious  lady." 

She  made  no  reply.  She  had  turned  toward  the 
house  and  was  looking  at  it.  The  sun  was  reflected 
in  all  the  windows,  of  which  each  one  was  in  itself 
a  dazzling  little  sun.  Antje  looked  at  it  so  long 
that  it  brought  the  water  to  her  eyes.  Then  she 
walked  on  with  the  little  girl ;  the  old  man  shook 
his  head  as  he  looked  after  her. 

At  the  end  of  the  park  she  looked  over  the  low 
wall  out  into  the  fields.  She  lifted  the  child  up 
on  the  wall  and  let  it  also  look  out  into  the 
world. 

"  Papa  !  "  cried  the  child,  and  the  little  hand  in 
its  white  mitten  pointed  to  a  gentleman  who  was 
walking  along  the  road  at  a  little  distance  beside  a 
woman's  figure. 

"  Hush  !  "  said  the  young  wife,  as  she  gazed  after 
the  pair  till  they  disappeared  behind  the  first  houses 
of  the  village.     "  Come,  Mousie  !  " 

The  child  trotted  along  beside  her  mother  to- 
ward the  house. 

"  Mouse  not  want  to  go  in,"  she  cried  as  Antje 
opened  the  door. 

"  Oh,  yes.  Mouse ;  we  will  go  into  papa's  pretty 
room.     Come." 

And  when  they  had  taken  off  their  cloaks  and 
hats  upstairs,  Antje  went  with  the  child  into  the 
studio.  She  sat  down  in  the  first  chair  she  came 
to  and  gazed  straight  before  her.  The  child  in  the 
mean  time  played  about  on  the  carpet. 

"  Here,  mamma  !  "  it  said  at  length,  putting  a 


Misjudged.  195 


little  bow  of  red  ribbon  which  it  had  picked  up  into 
its  mother's  hand. 

Antje  flung  the  dainty  ribbon  from  her  as  if  some 
noxious  insect  had  crawled  over  her  hand,  and  her 
eyes  glanced  at  the  picture  on  the  easel.  The  beau- 
tiful figure  of  the  Spanish  dancer  was  now  enclosed 
in  a  handsome  gold  frame,  but  the  picture  was  not 
yet  finished  according  to  Leo's  ideas.  The  sun- 
beams gradually  stole  nearer  and  nearer,  and  every- 
thing was  as  still  as  death  around  the  woman  thus 
lost  in  meditation  ;  the  child  had  laid  its  head  on  a 
soft  foot-cushion  and  gone  to  sleep.  There  was  no 
sound  throughout  the  whole  house  except  the  delib- 
erate ticking  of  the  richly  gilded  clock  on  the  man- 
tel-piece, and  a  mysterious  rustling  and  crackling 
as  if  ghosts  were  going  about. 

They  were  not  comfortable  ghosts ;  they  whispered 
evil  thoughts  to  the  pale  woman  sitting  there  ;  they 
told  of  broken  faith,  of  a  love  that  was  dead,  and 
of  an  unhappy,  lonely  future.  Antje  had  not  been 
cowardly  ;  she  had  calmed  her  rebellious  heart  on 
that  evening  by  saying  to  herself  that  he  had  not 
yet  done  anything  to  make  him  unworthy  of  her 
love  ;  it  was  all  to  be  accounted  for  by  his  artistic 
nature,  by  his  love  of  beauty,  of  the  magnificent 
relics  of  bygone  days — even  his  desire  to  paint  this 
beautiful  girl  and  the  need  of  paying  her  homage. 
Ah,  yes,  and  it  was  that  that  had  been  his  attraction 
for  her,  that  he  was  so  different  from  all  the  rest. 
She  had  not  been  able  to  bring  herself  to  tell  him 
about  the  antiquarian's  bill.  She  had  secretly  raised 
the  money  to  satisfy  the  man.  Nothing  would  in- 
duce her  to  squabble  with  Leo  about  money.     She 


196  Misjudged. 


would  not  dampen  his  creative  ardor  with  these 
petty  cares ;  that  was  her  duty  as  his  wife.  No  one 
but  Antje  herself  and  her  assistant  knew  that  she 
had  drawn  out  through  old  Classen  all  the  savings 
that  had  been  put  into  the  bank  from  her  childhood 
up,  and  added  to  these  a  valuable  pearl  necklace, 
the  gift  of  her  godmother,  which  the  old  woman 
undertook  to  sell,  with  many  sighs  and  shakes  of 
the  head.  And  she  could  depend  upon  Classen ! 
The  old  woman  wrung  her  hands,  it  is  true,  and 
threatened  to  tell  her  mother  all  about  it,  but  she 
was,  nevertheless,  as  silent  as  the  grave  as  long  as 
her  young  mistress  insisted  upon  it.  Only  Antje 
had  to  hear  her  perpetual  exclamations  of  : "  Oh, 
what  have  we  come  to  !  What  shall  we  come  to, 
if  you  never  will  say  anything  !  " 

"This  is  not  the  time  for  talking,  Classen,"  Antje 
would  answer  ;  "  it  will  all  come  out  right  yet,  you 
will  see." 

"  Goodness  me  :  I  would  give  him  a  talking  to," 
grumbled  the  old  woman.  But  Antje  did  not  hear 
her. 

She  thought  of  Maiberg ;  she  felt  that  she  had 
lost  a  faithful  friend.  Did  Leo  feel  that,  too  ?  Was 
there  any  hope  of  Maiberg's  coming  back  ?  She 
did  not  know,  and  she  would  not  ask  after  that  last 
scene,  for  it  might  look  as  if  she  had  a  deeper  inter- 
est in  the  doctor. 

Leo  had  no  time  for  thinking  of  anything — he 
was  painting  Hildegarde  von  Zweidorf. 

It  was  a  strange  sort  of  existence,  for  everything 
seemed  to  revolve  around  Hildegarde. 

Antje  preserved  the  same  tone  of  friendliness 


Misjudged.  197 


toward  this  stranger,  who  was  as  cold  and  hard 
toward  her  as  the  winter  before  their  doors.  The 
servants,  who,  scornful  of  the  young  lady's  shabby 
dress,  and  also  moved  by  Classen's  dislike  of  the 
intruder,  allowed  themselves  to  be  somewhat  neg- 
lectful of  the  youthful  guest,  were  sternly  reproved 
therefor  by  their  young  mistress. 

Hildegarde  von  Zweidorf  found  herself  received 
with  that  genuine  hospitality  which  is  the  stamp  of 
a  really  superior  establishment.  That  Antje  grew 
paler  and  paler  the  longer  she  stayed — well,  who 
noticed  that  ?  A  kindly  expression  was  never  want- 
ing in  the  countenance  of  the  young  hostess,  and,  in 
fact,  Antje  had  no  cause  to  show  unfriendliness  to 
the  beautiful  young  girl. 

Hilda's  conduct  was  blameless.  She  wrs  very 
modest,  very  attentive,  and — very  cold.  Ohe  had 
assumed  a  grave,  serious  air,  which  was  a  wonderful 
contrast,  indeed,  to  her  deep,  wistful  eyes,  but  Hilda 
received  all  her  host's  attentions  with  as  much 
reserve  as  was  to  be  expected  from  a  well-bred 
young  girl.  She  would  be  nothing  more  than  an 
ordinary  acquaintance  and  guest. 

If  Antje  could  only  have  forgotten  what  Leo  had 
said  to  the  young  girl  on  that  Christmas  morning ;  if 
she  had  not  always  had  ringing  in  her  ears  that  pas- 
sionate softness  of  his  tones ;  if  she  could  banish  the 
memory  of  the  young  girl's  heavy  sobs  ! 

And  Leo  stayed  at  home  so  much  now  ;  he  only 
went  to  Dresden  occasionally — "  on  business."  Antje 
knew  what  he  meant  by  that — to  get  money  from 
the  bank.  She  watched  him  drive  away  with  a  grave 
face,  and  she  received  him  without  reproaches  when 


198  Misjudged. 


he  returned,  which  was  always  in  a  very  short  time. 
But  that  might  all  be  because  he  was  in  a  hurry  to 
get  his  picture  finished.  And  if  he  did  accompany 
Hildegarde,  who  liked  to  go  out  with  her  sketch* 
book,  what  could  be  more  natural  ?  Then  they 
wandered  far  away  among  the  wintry  hills ;  some- 
times they  did  not  come  home  till  dusk,  and  Antje 
could  see  by  the  eager  expression  in  their  faces  that 
they  had  been  discussing  something  which  she,  ac- 
cording to  Leo's  ideas,  could  not  comprehend.  On 
such  days  she  would  stand  for  hours  at  the  window, 
looking  out  into  the  distance,  where  they  two  had 
disappeared,  and  a  sigh  of  relief  escaped  her  lips 
when  the  couple  at  length  returned. 

It  had  grown  very  quiet  at  Sibyllenburg.  Irene 
von  Erlach,  after  a  rather  hurried  marriage,  had 
left  home  with  her  husband,  and  they  were  enjoying 
themselves  somewhere  on  the  Nile.  The  young  men 
who  had  always  been  hanging  about  the  gay  young 
widow  had  made  their  last  appearance  in  the  neigh- 
borhood on  the  wedding-day.  Jussnitz  had  not  in- 
vited them  to  come  and  see  him,  because  he  had  "  his 
work  to  do,"  and  Antje  preferred  a  quiet  life.  There 
was  in  the  house  now  that  quietness  which  the 
young  wife  had  always  longed  for,  but  there  was  no 
peace  in  her  heart.  That  she  found  only  with  her 
little  daughter.  When  the  hour  came  round  at 
which  the  beautiful  Spanish  girl  was  accustomed  to 
appear  in  the  studio  in  her  yellow,  lace-trimmed  silk, 
Antje  took  refuge  with  her  child.  She  taught  it 
little  verses,  played  with  its  dolls,  sometimes  pressed 
the  little  one  close  to  her  breast,  laughed  at  what- 
ever the  childish  lips  let  fall,  and  seemed  like  a 


Misjudged.  199 


careless  child  herself,  only  that  the  tears  often 
streamed  down  her  cheeks  as  she  played. 

Once  she  had  gone  into  the  studio,  carrying  the 
tray  with  the  daintily  ordered  lunch,  but  only  once. 
She  had  appeared  with  her  caviare  and  her  sal- 
mon sandwiches  in  the  very  midst  of  a  dissertation 
of  her  husband's,  to  which  Hilda,  sitting  on  a  low 
stool,  slowly  waving  her  fan,  was  listening  intently, 
with  drooping  lashes.  Leo  was  talking  about  the 
two  Madonnas  of  Holbein  in  the  Darmstadt  and  the 
Dresden  galleries,  with  great  ardor.  They  did  not 
even  see  the  young  wife,  whose  step  was  noiseless 
on  the  soft  carpet.  She  set  the  tray  down  softly 
on  a  table  and  went  away. 

At  the  time  when  she  had  first  visited  the  Dres- 
den gallery  with  her  husband,  she  had  said  to  him  ; 
*'  Tell  me,  Leo,  which  of  the  Madonnas  do  you 
consider  the  original  ? "  And  he  had  replied  : 
*'Ah,  child,  you  do  not  understand  enough  about 
it  now  ;  I  should  have  to  make  a  long  explanation. 
I  will  tell  you  some  time," 

But  this  "  some  time  "  had  never  come.  Now 
he  was  giving  this  explanation,  but  to  another, 
more  worthy  of  consideration  than  she  ! 

"  How  long  will  this  torture  last  ?  "  she  said  to 
herself  bitterly,  and  she  knew  very  well  that  it 
would  last  a  long  time  yet.     .     .     . 

"  I  must  make  some  compensation  to  Fraulein 
von  Zweidorf\for  sacrificing  so  much  of  her  time 
to  me,"  said  Leo  to  Antje  one  day,  "  I  cannot 
very  well  offer  her  money,  although,  Heaven  knows, 
that  is  what  she  needs  most.  I  think  we  shall 
have  to  keep  her  here  for  a  while,  and  as  soon  as 


200  Misjudged. 


my  picture  is  finished  I  will  give  her  some  lessons, 
or  get  some  one  else  to  do  so." 

Antje  replied  that  she  could  not  judge  of  this 
matter.  "  I  do  not  know  how  far  Fraulein  von 
Zweidorf  is  able  to  dispose  of  her  own  time,"  she 
added. 

"  Bah  1  "  he  replied.  "  They  will  be  glad  enough 
at  home  to  know  that  she  is  in  good  hands  for 
a  time." 

Antje  was  silent ;  the  matter  was  settled. 

Hilda  did  some  painting  herself  now;  she  had 
declared  that  she  must  earn  some  money.  Leo 
procured  silk,  leather,  and  water-color  paper,  and 
an  art-dealer  in  Berlin  undertook  the  sale  of  the 
trifles  she  made.  Even  Antje  once  bought  several 
little  note-books  on  which  a  bird  or  a  flower  was 
painted  with  wonderful  truth  to  nature.  With  her 
earnings  Hilda  bought  for  herself  a  simple  but 
very  pretty  costume,  and  gradually  she  ceased  to 
look  shabby.  She  did  not  wear  Leo's  Christmas 
brooch  ;  she  had  returned  it  to  him  in  Antje's 
presence  with  the  remark  that  she  never  accepted 
gifts,  least  of  all  such  costly  ones.  The  pretty 
glittering  thing  was  now  lying  in  a  drawer  of  Leo's 
writing-table,  with  the  jeweller's  unpaid  bill  beside 
it.  Ah,  how  many  unpaid  bills  were  there  lying 
in  that  same  drawer ! 

"  I  will  settle  them  all  before  April,"  he  had 
said.     "By  that  time  my  picture  will  be  sold." 

And  so  the  days  had  slipped  by.  It  seemed 
to  Antje  as  if  there  were  a  gray  veil  continually 
before  her  eyes ;  everything  was  so  indifferent  to 
her,  everything — except  the  child  ! 


Misjudged.  201 


Ah,  the  child  !  In  a  moment  Antje  was  back 
in  the  present,  and  she  ran  to  the  spot  where  her 
darling  lay  on  the  carpet  and  looked  down  at  her. 
How  pretty  Leonie  was  with  her  golden  curls  and 
her  little  apple-blossom  face  !  Would  she  have  a 
happy  life  ?  So  far  as  Antje  could  make  it  so — 
she  certainly  would.  She  should  learn  a  great 
deal  ;  and  she  should  learn  not  to  hide  what  she 
knew,  as  her  poor,  silly  mother  did,  who  always 
was  afraid  when  an  opportunity  offered  to  join  in 
the  conversation. 

How  long  Leo  and  Hilda  stayed  out  to-day ! 
The  great  room  was  already  getting  quite  dark, 
and  they  had  not  come  yet. 

Antje  remembered  that  Hilda  had  spoken  of 
a  part'cularly  picturesque  point  of  view  which  she 
had  discovered  a  short  time  before  on  the  banks 
of  the  Elbe,  and  which  they  were  going  to  visit 
to-day.  True,  they  had  gone  in  that  direction. 
The  young  mother  carried  her  sleeping  child  to 
its  nurse  ;  then  she  perceived  that  she  had  left  her 
key-basket  in  the  studio,  and  she  went  hastily 
back  to  look  for  it.  The  hall  and  staircase  were 
already  lighted,  and  she  saw  the  servant  coming 
up  with  a  package  of  newspapers  and  several  letters. 

"  Something  for  the  gracious  lady,"  he  said,  and 
hurrying  up,  he  gave  Antje  a  letter. 

It  was  a  big  letter,  with  the  address  in  a  busi« 
ness  hand.  She  at  once  recognized  the  writing 
of  Kortmer,  the  old  foreman  of  the  iron  works, 
and  an  old  friend  of  the  family. 

As  he  usually  sent  his  greetings  to  her  through 
her  mother,  Antje  was  surprised  at  getting  a  letter 


202  Misjudged. 


from  him.  She  went  quickly  up  to  the  lamp,  which 
was  upheld  by  a  colossal  figure  in  bronze,  opened 
the  letter,  read  it  hastily,  and  then  let  fall  the  hand 
which  held  it,  with  an  expression  of  torturing  anxiety 
on  her  face.  Involuntarily,  she  turned  her  steps 
toward  the  studio  again,  thinking  that  her  husband 
might  have  come  in  in  the  mean  time. 

"  Leo  !  "  she  called,  and  then  listened.  Her  eyes, 
blinded  by  the  light,  could  distinguish  nothing  in 
the  darkness. 

No  answer.  She  felt  for  the  chair  in  which  she 
had  been  sitting,  sat  down,  then  got  up  again,  took 
a  few  steps  to  the  window  and  gazed  out  into  the 
garden.  The  grass-plats  looked  like  dark  shadows, 
and  the  white  gravel  walks  shone  out  among  them 
like  broad,  curling  ribbons.  A  few  yellow  strips  of 
sky  still  glimmered  in  the  west  among  the  dark 
clouds,  looking  solemn  and  mysterious,  as  the  old 
painters  used  to  represent  the  heavens  in  the  pictures 
of  the  crucifixion. 

Such  a  picture  hung  above  her  mother's  bed  at 
home  ;  Antje  could  see  it  before  her  distinctly  at 
this  moment,  and  she  saw  also  a  feverish  face  rest- 
ing on  the  white  cushions,  saw  eyes  looking  inquir- 
ingly up  to  the  Saviour  as  if  begging  for  relief,  and 
then  searching  about  the  room  for  the  only  object 
that  bound  her  to  this  world — her  daughter. 

"  Where  can  he  be  ?  Oh,  my  God,  why  does  he 
not  come  ?  " 

At  ten  o'clock  the  express  train  would  go,  and  if 
^e  meant  to  take  it,  she  had  no  time  to  lose. 

She  controlled  herself  and  looked  about  for  her 
key-basket ;    there  it  was  on    Leo's  great  writing- 


Misjudged,  203 


table.  She  would  go  and  pack  up  something  for 
her  journey.  The  nurse  was  a  trustworthy  person, 
and  so  was  Classen ;  everything  would  go  on  just 
as  well  without  her — ah,  yes,  everything  ! 

She  walked  noiselessly  across  the  carpet  and 
then  stopped  suddenly.  She  heard  a  door  open 
across  the  hall. 

^^ Auf  wiedersehen,  Hildegarde,"  she  heard  in  soft 
tones  ;  "  get  well  rested  ;  your  feet  must  ache  after 
that  long  walk.     Auf  wiedersehen,  at  supper  !  " 

There  was  no  answer ;  Leo  had  shut  the  door. 
He  had  only  said  these  few  words  as  she  was  gomg 
to  her  room. 

Then  the  door  of  the  dark  studio  opened- 

"  Leo,"  said  the  young  wife  as  he  came  in. 

"  Who  is  it  ?  What,  you  here  ?  "  he  cried.  "  Why 
have  you  no  light  ?  It  is  as  dark  as  pitch  I  Where 
are  the  matches?  Can't  you  find  the  bell,  at 
least?" 

"  Leo,  only  one  word,"  she  interrupted,  hastily. 
"  I  have  just  heard  from  Kortmer  that  my  mother 
is  very  ill.  Of  course,  I  wish  to  go  to  her — now — at 
once.  You  have  no  objection,  Leo  ?  I  am  so  very 
anxious  ;  she  must  be  very  ill." 

Leo,  in  the  mean  time,  had  lighted  a  match  and 
lighted  the  candles  in  the  great  chandelier.  His 
expression  was  that  of  a  man  who  had  had  a  very 
unpleasant  surprise. 

"  You  cannot  get  up  and  go  oflF  all  in  a  minute 
like  that  I  "  he  said,  slowly. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  Leo,  Kortmer  writes  that  my 
mother  has  been  unconscious  since  the  day  before 
vesterday." 


804  Misjudged, 


**  Weil,  probably  she  is  much  better  by  this  time. 
The  news  is  at  least  two  days  old." 

"  Leo,  how  can  you  !  I  am  so  horribly  anxic  JS — 
she  has  no  one  but  me " 

"  Old  Hanna  is  there,"  he  persisted,  obstinately. 
"  You  cannot  possibly  leave  the  house — now  !  You 
forget  that  you  have  a  young  lady  visiting  you,  who 
could  not  possibly  stay  alone  with  me." 

Antje  stood  and  looked  at  him  with  great,  aston- 
islied  eyes.  "  And  I  am  to  leave  my  sick  mother 
alone  for  the  sake  of  this  stranger  ?  "  she  said  in  a 
low  voice. 

"  You  do  not  seem  to  take  in  the  situation,"  he 
replied,  beginning  to  walk  up  and  down  the  room. 
'*  If  you  go,  Hilda  will  be  forced  to  go  away  also 
this  evening,  and  where  is  she  to  go  ?  Pray,  calm 
yourself,  and  to-morrow  I  will  telegraph  to  the  doc- 
tor, and  if  your  mother  is  no  better,  well — then 
there  will  be  time  enough  to  make  some  arrange- 
ment." 

She  turned  her  back  upon  him  and  walked  to  the 
door  without  a  word. 

"  Wait  a  minute  I "  he  cried.  Impetuously.  **  You 
misunderstand  the  matter  entirely,"  he  continued, 
when  she  had  stopped.  *'You  know  that  ever 
since  that  Christmas  eve  at  Barrenberg's  people 
have  been  talking  about  this  poor  girl.  If  you  go 
away  now,  they  will  say,  of  course,  that  you  have 
left  me,  because — oh,  confound  it,  don't  put  on  a 
face  like  that,  you  know  very  well  what  I  mean," 
he  concluded,  angrily.  *'  It  is  too  absurd,  but — in 
short,  we  are  living  in  the  world,  and  must  govern 
ourselves  accordingly." 


Misjudged.  205 


Antje  gave  an  almost  imperceptible  shrug  of  her 
shoulders,  and  left  the  room. 

He  looked  gloomily  after  her,  and  sank  down 
into  a  chair,  the  same  in  which  Antje  had  just  been 
sitting.  He  felt  very  uncomfortable  at  this  moment, 
for  he  had  never  before  seen  his  wife  look  so  utterly 
miserable. 

But,  good  Heavens,  what  woman  is  so  situated 
that  she  can  get  up  and  go  off  when  something 
happens  in  her  old  home  ?  And  Antje  could  not  go, 
and  must  not  go  ;  it  was  impossible  just  now. 

Leo  stooped  to  pick  up  the  letter  she  had 
dropped, 

*'  I  do  not  like  to  make  you  anxious,  Frau  Juss- 
nitz,"  he  read,  "  but  I  consider  it  my  duty  to  write 
to  you,  in  case  anything  should  happen,  which  God 
forbid  !  Your  mother  has  been  very  ill  for  several 
days.  If  it  is  possible,  I  hope  you  will  come.  That 
your  mother  herself  fears  the  worst  is  proved  by 
the  fact  that  she  sent  for  her  lawyer  yesterday,  A 
few  hours  later  she  lost  consciousness.  Of  course, 
that  does  not  necessarily  imply  that  the  worst  is  to 
be  feared.  But  it  will  be  better  for  you  to  come, 
and  then  you  will  be  here  in  any  case,  and  I  am  sure 
it  would  do  your  mother  a  great  deal  of  good " 

Leo  folded  up  the  letter  and  put  it  in  his  desk. 

"  Exaggerated,  of  course,"  he  muttered,  and  be- 
gan to  open  some  other  letters  which  were  lying 
there.  As  he  read  the  first  he  hastily  took  out  his 
handkerchief  and  wiped  his  forehead,  and  for  a  few 
moments  his  face  looked  quite  haggard. 

"  Another  false  alarm  !  H'm  !  Runo  and  Bas- 
kert  are  as  solid  as  the  universe. — ^What  could  the 


2o6  Misjudged. 


old  lady  have  wanted  with  her  lawyer,  I  wonder?-* 
he  thought,  half  aloud.  "  In  that  case,  perhaps  it 
would  be  as  well  for  Antje  to  go,  after  all.  Bah  ! 
people  do  not  die  so  easily.  But  to-morrow  I  must 
go  to  the  bank  again." 

He  stooped  again  and  picked  up  a  little  red  bow, 
the  same  that  Antje  had  flung  away  from  her.  He 
stared  at  it  as  if  lost  in  thought ;  he  remembered 
that  Hilda  had  worn  it  in  her  hair  that  morning. 
Then  he  sighed  and  laid  it  carefully  down  on  the 
writing-table,  but  immediately  took  it  up  again  and 
stroked  it  gently  with  his  finger,  as  if  he  had  the 
liand  of  a  beautiful  and  beloved  woman  in  his  own. 
Another  deep  sigh,  and  then  he  flung  the  dainty 
bow  on  the  table. 

"  It  is  enough  to  drive  me  mad  !  "  he  muttered, 
and  got  up  and  went  to  the  window,  his  clenched 
fist  resting  on  the  sill.  Suddenly  it  was  clenched 
more  firmly,  for  down  below,  there  on  the  light 
gravel  path,  moved  a  slender  dark  figure — Antje. 

Was  she  going,  after  all  ?  Then — well,  then,  she 
would  be  responsible  for  whatever  might  happen. 
No,  she  was  coming  back  again.  She  was  only 
wandering  about  in  her  exaggerated  anxiety  ;  there 
was  something,  then,  that  could  shake  her  out  of  that 
intolerable  calmness  ! 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Hilda  was  sitting  writing  in  her  cosey  room — that 
is,  she  had  been  writing,  and  now  was  reading  her 
letter  over.  It  was  addressed  to  her  eldest  sister, 
of  whom  she  had  lately  made  a  confidante. 

The  young  artist  was  greatly  changed  ;  her  face 
had  grown  smaller,  and  her  mouth  constantly  wore 
that  half-scornful,  half-condescending  smile  peculiar 
to  people  who  feel  themselves  immensely  superior 
to  all  the  follies  and  pettiness  of  their  fellow-men, 
and  are  only  constrained  to  keep  their  opinions  to 
themselves  by  the  force  of  circumstances.  There 
was  an  air  of  watching  and  waiting  for  something  in 
her  whole  manner  ;  her  movements  had  grown  sup- 
ple and  cat-like  ;  in  short,  she  was  scarcely  recog- 
nizable for  the  same  person  she  had  been  before. 
If  Antje  was  quietly  patient,  she  was  absolutely 
apathetic  in  her  manner.  If  Leo  asked  her  if  she 
would  go  to  walk,  she  replied  curtly :  "  Oh,  cer- 
tainly," and  marched  off  beside  him.  Her  manner 
to  him  fell  just  short  of  rudeness.  But  this  reserve, 
this  coolness,  suited  her  admirably,  for  a  fire  blazed 
out  of  her  dark  eyes  which  formed  a  strange  con- 
trast to  her  calm  manner.  She  was  perfectly  well 
aware  that  this  tortured  Leo,  and  delighted  and 
vexed  him  at  the  same  time,  but  she  wore  an  air  of 
such  indifference  that  no  one  would  have  thought 


2o8  Misjudged. 


she  had  any  idea  of  the  storm  she  had  raised.  And 
she  hardly  confessed  even  to  herself  the  delight 
which  this  occasioned  her. 

When  Leo  writhed  and  twisted  like  a  worm  trod- 
den under  foot,  she  felt  that  even  then  all  his  suf- 
ferings did  not  outweigh  what  she  had  endured  on 
that  evening  when  she  learned  that  he  was  married. 
And  all  this  time  she  had  not  the  slightest  thought 
for  Antje.  What  was  this  woman  to  her  ?  She  was 
quite  satisfied  if  she  only  had  the  key  to  the  cup- 
boards and  the  linen-press  at  her  girdle,  and  her 
baby  on  her  arm. 

She  caught  up  her  letter  and  read  it  over  once 
more  : 

"Dearest  Tony: 

"  Do  not  torture  me  with  questions,  for  I  cannot  tell  you 
when  I  shall  come  home — Jussnitz  has  not  yet  6nished  my 
picture.     And  you  know  that  I  am  in  good  hands  here. 

"  I  am  delighted  to  hear  that  papa  has  effectually  stopped 
Aunt  Polly's  slanderous  tongue.  Tony,  you  know  me — as  if  I 
would  remain  here  if  only  one  atom  of  all  she  says  were  true  ! 
There  are  some  people  who  cannot  look  an  inch  beyond 
the  wall  which  their  own  narrow-mindedness  and  common- 
place natures  have  built  up  around  them.  I  do  not  love  Juss- 
nitz ;  I  write  it  down  once  more.  How  should  I,  Hilda  von 
Zweidorf,  come  to  such  a  pass  as  to  be  interested  in  a  married 
man  ?     Good  Heavens,  it  is  too  utterly  absurd  ! 

"Perhaps  I  may  come  home  some  day  quite  unexpectedly — 
for  a  short  time.  I  think  I  shall  try  Munich  by  and  by.  And 
so  I  may  appear  suddenly  in  your  old  attic  room,  between  the 
clattering  sewing-machine  and  the  work-basket.  Good  Heav- 
ens, how  can  you  stand  that  horrible  monotony,  children  ? 

"  There  is  little  enough  variety  here,  Heaven  knows,  except 
the  caprices  of  my  host.  Now  he  thinks  he  will  paint  ;  I 
fling  on  my  costume  and  pose  myself — though,  really,  what 
remains  to  be  done  to  the  picture  I  do  not  know  myself  ;  it 


Misjudged.  209 


^ight  have  been  in  Berlin  long  ago,  so  far  as  I  can  see — and 
in  a  quarter  of  an  hour  he  finds  himself  too  'nervous/  not  in 
the  mood  for  it,  and  he  wishes  to  talk  instead.  The  next 
tninute  he  says  he  will  take  a  walk.  If  that  '  everlasting  night- 
lamp  '  were  not  in  the  house  with  her  faint  but  steady  glim- 
mer, which  keeps  the  balance  against  all  these  whims,  every- 
thing would  be  turned  topsy-turvy  ;  but  as  it  is — good  Heav- 
ens, how  can  any  one  be  so  intolerably  stupid  as  that  woman  ? 
"Do  you  remember  that  poem  of  Annette  von  Droste-Hiils- 
hoff,  '  The  Silly  Woman  '  ?  I  tell  you,  Tony,  that  the  Hulshoff 
woman  was  a  perfect  model  of  sense  and  intelligence  com- 
pared with  Frau  Antje.  She  had  sense  enough,  at  least,  not 
CO  make  her  husband's  pecuniary  situation  more  difficult.  But 
this  one  !  And  always  with  the  same  cool,  friendly  manner  1 
If  she  would  only  storm  and  scold  once  in  a  while  by  way  of 
variety,  as  Diirer's  amiable  spouse  used  to  do — but  no  ;  that 
never  happens.  But  what  nonsense  I  am  writing !  Good- 
by.     Love  to  my  father  and  mother  and  my  sisters. 

"Your 

"  Hilda." 

When  Hilda  wrote  the  words :  "  How  could  I, 
Hilda  von  Zweidorf,  ever  come  to  such  a  pass  as 
to  become  interested  in  a  married  man  ?  "  she  had 
only  spoken  the  truth.  The  love  that  she  had  felt 
for  him  had  been  destroyed  by  the  great  disappoint- 
ment she  had  endured,  but  in  the  place  of  that  love 
something  else  had  come  to  her,  of  a  nature  not  less 
passionate — hatred,  the  longing  to  prove  to  him  that 
she  had  never  loved  him.  This  longing  made  her 
blind  and  deaf  to  all  other  considerations,  the  more 
she  became  conscious  that  she  had  once  betrayed 
to  him  the  real  nature  of  her  feelings. 

At  such  times  she  clenched  her  hands  and  tears  of 
wrath  streamed  from  her  eyes.  There  were  days  in 
which  her  caprices  were  many  and  unaccountable^ 


2 1  o  Misjudged. 


on  which  she  longed  to  have  him  speak  to  her  oi 
his  love,  on  which  she  tortured  him  and  enraptured 
him  only  in  the  hope  that  the  moment  would  come 
at  length  when  she  could  proudly  toss  back  her 
head  and  say  :  "  Sir,  what  do  you  mean  ?  1  do 
not  understand  you." 

This  very  day  had  been  such  an  one.  Tony's 
letter  had  aroused  all  the  evil  passions  in  her ;  there 
had  been  something  in  it  about  a  letter  from  Aunt 
Polly,  who  swore  by  all  that  was  sacred  that  Hilda 
had  not  been  indifferent  to  Herr  Jussnitz.  She  had 
walked  beside  him  in  their  excursions  with  flutter- 
ing breath,  she  had  played  with  him  as  a  cat  plays 
with  a  mouse  ;  but  he  had  not  found  the  courage  to 
say  what  Hilda  would  so  gladly  have  trapped  him 
into  saying.  Hilda  was  conscious  only  that  he  was 
having  a  struggle  with  himself.  But  some  day  he 
would  speak,  and  she  would  leave  the  house  that 
very  hour,  with  the  hope  in  her  heart  that  he  might 
only  suffer  half  so  much  as  she  had  done. 

Where  she  went  was  a  matter  of  indifference  to 
her,  but  she  would  go  with  her  pride  unbent,  with 
smiling  lips,  and  in  the  consciousness  that  he  would 
search  for  her  and  not  find  her ;  that  he  would  be 
sick  with  longing  after  her.  ' 

While  indulging  in  these  reflections  she  had  ad- 
dressed the  letter  to  her  sister  and  begun  to  make 
her  toilet.  She  knew  that  he  was  waiting  for  her 
downstairs  in  the  yellow  drawing-room.  She  dressed 
very  slowly — this  "waiting  "  was  one  of  her  ways  of 
tormenting  him.  She  spent  a  quarter  of  an  hour  in 
curling  the  hair  on  her  forehead  and  ten  minutes 
more   in    fastening  a  bunch  of  snow-drops  in  her 


Misjudged.  ait 


dress.  She  could  see  him  in  imagination  walking 
up  and  down,  up  and  down,  and  her  steps  as  she 
turned  toward  the  door  grew  slower  at  the  thought. 

She  found  him  as  she  had  expected,  only  looking 
very  pale.  Was  it  because  of  the  question  she  had 
put  to  him  in  the  course  of  the  day :  "  When  will 
the  picture  be  finished  ?  " 

He  had  not  answered  her.  Now  she  was  stand- 
ing before  him  in  her  best  dress,  a  simple  but  per- 
fectly fitting  costume  of  garnet  cloth,  a  few  white 
flowers  at  her  breast,  and  with  the  beautiful,  apa- 
thetic face,  which  looked  beyond  him  with  an  air  of 
such  utter  indifference. 

"  Shall  we  begin  to  read  ? "  she  said,  wearily. 

He  assented,  and  they  took  their  seats  in  the  chairs 
which  were  drawn  up  so  cosily  opposite  each  other 
beside  the  open  fire  which  cast  its  reflections  on  the 
carpet. 

"  Where  did  we  leave  off  ?  "  she  inquired,  sup- 
pressing a  slight  yawn. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  I  don't  know,  Hilda,  don't  ask  me.  Heaven 
knows  I  do  not  hear  what  you  read — I " 

"  What  ?     You  do  not  hear  what  I  read  ?  " 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  No,"  he  said  in  a  low  tone.  "  I  hear  nothing, 
I  only  see  you.  And  then  I  ask  myself  how  long  1 
shall  see  you.  And  you  ask  me  when  the  picture 
will  be  finished  ?  Good  Heavens,  Hilda,  do  you 
never  suspect  that  I  cannot  bear  the  thought  that 
the  picture  must  be  finished  some  day,  of  some 
day  seeing  that  place  vacant  where  you  have  always 
stood  ?  " 


212  Misjudged. 


And  he  grasped  her  hands  impulsively  and  pressed 
them  to  his  lips  and  to  his  eyes. 

Hilda  started  up,  deeply  shocked.  What  she  had 
so  ardently  longed  for  now  gave  her  a  horrible  feel- 
ing of  shame.  She  could  not  utter  a  word,  only  a 
slight  cry  escaped  her  lips,  and  her  eyes  were  fixed 
on  Antje,  who  was  standing  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  spell-bound,  with  a  pale,  haggard  face,  and 
with  her  hair,  damp  with  the  night-dews,  falling  ovei 
her  forehead.  Her  great  eyes  were  fixed  on  Hilda 
for  a  moment  with  a  piteous,  grieved  expression,  and 
the  young  girl  drooped  her  head  beneath  this  look. 
She  could  not  pass  Antje,  so  she  left  the  room  by 
an  opposite  door  which  opened  into  the  tea-room. 
She  felt  as  if  she  had  been  gazing  into  an  abyss  of 
grief  and  pain, 

Leo,  however,  went  up  to  his  wife. 

"  What  is  it,  Antje  ?  "  he  said,  more  gently  than 
he  had  ever  spoken  to  her  before.  "  Do  you  wish 
to  go  ?  If  you  are  so  very  anxious,  then  go,  go,  for 
Heaven's  sake." 

He  caught  at  her  hand,  but  Antje  kept  it  hidden 
in  the  folds  of  her  dress  ;  she  did  not  move,  but 
only  looked  at  him  with  the  same  expression  with 
which  she  had  gazed  at  Hilda. 

"  Antje,"  he  said,  "  calm  yourself  ;  it  cannot  be 
so  very  bad  with " 

"  With  what  ?  "  she  gasped  out  with  difficulty. 

"  With  your  mother.  Go,  child  ;  we  must  get  on 
here  as  best  we  can  without  you — go " 

"No,"  she  replied  ;  "I  will  not  go,  I  see  that 
I — can — not  go — now. — God  will  surely  have 
pity  on  me  1" 


Misjudged.  213 


She  tried  to  say  more,  but  her  voice  broke  in 
a  sob. 

"Antje,  for  pity's  sake,  do  not  be  so  horribly 
tragic,  don't  fancy  the  worst  ! " 

"  No,  no  !  "  she  murmured.     "  I  shall  get  over  it !  " 

And  she  put  out  her  hand  to  ward  him  off,  as 
if  to  say  :  "  Do  not  speak  of  it  again  ;  have  pity  !  " 

She  went  upstairs  to  her  room  and  stood  before 
her  mother's  picture.  "You  will  forgive  me," 
she  whispered,  pressing  her  clasped  hands  against 
her  lips — "  you  will  forgive  me  if  I  do  not  come. 
I  cannot  suffer  three  people's  lives  to  be  ruined 
for  the  sake  of  one.  You  loved  your  husband, 
and  your  child,  too,  more  than  anything  in  the 
world  ;  you  will  understand  that  I  must  stay  at 
my  post." 

Then  she  got  out  her  pen  and  paper  and  wrote 
two  telegrams,  one  to  old  Kortmer  and  the  other 
to  Dr.  Maiberg  in  Berlin,  which  latter  ran  thus  : 

"  My  mother  very  ill  ;  cannot  go  to  her  ;  if  you  could  go-- 
very  grateful.  Anna  Jussnitz." 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Antje  did  not  come  to  tea  that  night,  and  Hilda 
did  not  appear  again,  but  stayed  in  her  room. 

So  Leo  had  the  table  to  himself,  but  the  food 
tasted  bitter  in  his  mouth.  At  length  he  gave 
up  trying  to  eat  and  devoted  himself  to  the  wine. 
His  thoughts  were  in  a  mad  whirl — about  his 
pecuniary  affairs,  the  stock  speculations  in  which 
he  had  risked  Antje's  fortune  without  her  knowl- 
edge, the  mother-in-law  who  was  by  no  means 
fond  of  him  and  would  have  been  glad  to  put  him 
on  an  allowance.  He  had  no  luck  !  Weeks  ago 
he  had  sent  off  a  picture  to  the  dealer,  and  had 
since  sent  him  a  water-color  sketch,  but  neither 
had  been  sold,  though  never  had  he  been  in  more 
pressing  need  of  a  few  thousand  marks  than  now. 
He  could  send  Hilda's  portrait,  but  the  thought 
of  parting  with  it,  of  giving  it  up  to  some  idiot, 
who  would  adorn  his  room  with  it,  and  would 
rub  his  hands  and  chuckle  at  the  sight  of  her 
beauty,  put  him  into  such  a  jealous  rage  as  nearly 
robbed  him  of  his  reason ;  and  added  to  this 
there  was  the  agreeable  prospect  of  his  mother-in- 
law's  dying  unreconciled  to  him.  She  had  already 
sent  for  her  lawyer,  probably  to  bind  the  hands 
of  her  "  extravagant  son-in-law,"  so  he  could  not 
waste  the  principal. 


Misjudged.  215 


That  scene  with  Antje — if  he  had  only  let  her 
go  !  Now  she  would  go  about  like  a  poor,  betrayed 
wife,  would  jealously  spy  upon  all  his  movements, 
would  be  cold  as  ice  to  that  poor  girl,  and  would 
sit  opposite  him  at  the  table  with  that  martyr-like 
air,  and — it  is  enough  to  drive  a  man  mad  I  "  The 
best  thing  I  could  do  would  be  to  drive  into  Dres- 
den this  very  night — if  it  were  only  not  for  that 
sick  mother-in-law  ! " 

And  now  Antje  wouldn't  go,  out  of  sheer  jeal- 
ousy !  There  would  be  a  scene  this  evening,  he 
knew  that  very  well,  and  there  should  be  one,  too  ; 
he  would  not  go  out  of  the  way  of  it.  Better  end 
it  all  with  a  crash  than  have  this  sort  of  thing  going 
on  forever. 

And  Hilda  ?  She  had  left  him  without  a  word, 
looking  every  inch  of  her  like  an  insulted  queen. 
He  gave  a  bitter  laugh,  took  a  cigar,  and  went  up- 
stairs to  make  a  scene  with  his  wife.  He  expected 
to  find  her  with  the  air  of  a  martyr,  with  tearful 
eyes,  answering  "  yes  "  and  "  no  "  to  all  his  ques- 
tions. That  would  be  excellent  for  a  beginning, 
for  then  he  could  say  :  "  Listen  to  me,  my  dear. 
I  have  had  about  enough  of  this  sort  of  thing  !  If 
I  cannot  do  anything  to  suit  you,  if  you  take 
offence  at  everything  I  do,  we  had  better  put  an 
end  to  it.     No  man  could  stand  such  a  life " 

At  this  moment  he  reached  the  door  of  her 
room  and  opened  it.  She  was  sitting  at  her  desk, 
writing  so  eagerly  that  she  did  not  look  up.  She  did 
not  see  him  until  he  came  close  up  to  her,  and  then 
taking  her  pen  in  her  left  hand,  she  put  out  her 
right. 


2i6  Misjudged. 


"  Excuse  me  for  a  moment,  Leo  ;  only  the  signa- 
ture, and  then  I  can  attend  to  you." 

She  had  looked  up  at  him.  Yes  ;  her  eyes,  her 
unfathomable  eyes  were  still  full  of  tears,  but  there 
was  such  a  grieved,  questioning  look  in  them,  under 
their  dark  lashes,  that  he  could  not  begin  his  con- 
templated attack.  He  threw  himself  into  a  chair 
and  began  to  stroke  his  beard. 

"  Won't  you  keep  on  smoking,  Leo  ? "  she  in- 
quired, turning  round  as  she  perceived  that  he  had 
laid  down  his  cigar.  "  You  are  always  more  com- 
fortable when  you  have  your  cigar." 

"  No,  thanks,"  he  replied,  shortly. 

**  You  always — you  know  I  like  to  have  you  smoke, 
Leo." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  impatiently.  He  had 
^en  prepared  for  everything  but  this  friendly  tone, 
.*nd  it  irritated  him  indescribably. 

"  How  happens  it  that  the  child  is  still  awake  ? " 
he  inquired,  pointing  to  the  door,  through  which 
could  be  heard  the  little  one's  voice  ;  "  and  what  is 
the  old  woman  from  the  kitchen  doing  up  here  ? " 

"  The  Mouse  is  often  awake  at  this  time,  Leo,"  re- 
plied Antje,  pressing  the  stamp  down  on  her  letter, 
and  rising  as  she  spoke.  "  The  nurse  has  gone  down 
to  the  village,  and  old  Classen  has  come  to  take  her 
place  ;  that  is  the  whole  mystery.  Will  you  go  in 
and  see  Mousie,  Leo  ? " 

**  So  she  will  get  wide  awake  and  howl  the  whole 
night  through  ?     No,  thank  you  !  "  he  replied. 

"  I  thought  you  might  like  it,  Leo.  You  have  no 
idea  what  a  droll  little  thing  she  is." 

"  Have  you  hunted  up  the  old  silk  dresses  that 


Misjudged.  217 


belonged  to  your  great-great-grandmother?"  in- 
quired Leo,  evasively.  "  I  asked  you  to  do  it  the 
day  before  yesterday.  They  will  have  to  be  tried 
on,  and  perhaps  they  may  need  some  alterations." 

"  Yes,  Leo,  but  under  the  present  circumstances 
we  need  not  think  of  the  costume  ball  ?  " 

"  Oh,  one  never  can  tell,  and  you  can't  get  a  cos- 
tume at  the  last  minute.  I  am  sure  your  mother 
has  only  another  gastric  fever  in  consequence  of  her 
too  heavy  meals ;  she  will  be  quite  well  again  by 
the  time  the  masked  ball  comes  off." 

"  May  God  grant  it !  "  said  Antje,  in  a  low  tone. 
Her  voice  sounded  so  hopeless  that  he  was  silent. 

He  had  not  yet  found  an  opportunity  for  his 
attack. 

She  took  up  her  work  and  sat  down  on  the  sofa. 

"  Can  you  not  keep  your  hands  still  for  the  few 
minutes  that  I  am  here,  at  least  ? " 

"  Why,  of  course  I  can,  Leo  !  I  had  forgotten 
that  you  do  not  like  crochet."  She  put  her  work 
back  into  the  dainty  basket,  and  then  sat  still  with 
her  hands  folded. 

"  I  should  like  to  know,"  he  began,  as  he  walked 
up  and  down  the  room,  "  why  under  heavens  your 
mother  should  send  for  a  lawyer  ?  She  made  her 
will  long  ago.  Is  she  going  to  change  it,  or  what 
is  the  matter  ?  I  suppose  she  has  told  you  of  her 
intentions.  Probably  she  wishes  to  *  tie  me  up,'  as 
they  say." 

'*  I  do  not  know  what  her  intentions  are,"  replied 
Antje. 

"  Indeed  ?  Well,  I  know  very  well  what  her 
>pinion  is  of  me — a  spendthrift,  an  idle  fellow,  and 


2 1 8  Misjudged. 


so  on.  Isn't  it  so  ?  And  that  \%your  secret  opinion, 
too,  eh  ?  You  ought  to  have  been  an  obedient 
daughter,  and  not  have  insisted  on  marrying  me. 
You  should  have  taken  your  good,  solid  cousin ;  it 
would  have  been  better  for  you  and  for " 

"  Leo  !  "  He  was  stopped  by  a  shriek  of  anguish, 
"  Do  not  say  it — I  implore  you — not  that !  " 

Antje  had  started  up  with  a  face  pale  as  death, 
and  her  trembling  hands  caught  at  his  arm.  "  It 
would  not  have  been  better  for  me,"  she  added 
hastily,  "  for  I  love  you ;  but — for  jou,  Leo,  I  think 
so  too,  now — I  have  thought  so  for  some  time." 

"  For  some  time  ?     What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Leo,  do  you  think  I  cannot  see  how  you  and 
Hilda " 


"  Leave  Hilda  out  of  the  question,  I  beg  of  you. 
It  is  a  figment  of  your  brain." 

"  No,"  she  said,  firmly,  "  it  is  not  a  figment  of  my 
brain.  I  have  seen  your  liking  for  her  grow  amid 
a  thousand  tortures.  Do  you  think  I  am  different 
from  other  women  ?  I  have  always  thought  you 
would — you  must  put  an  end  to  it ;  that  you  must 
come  to  your  senses  ;   but  you " 

**  Then  you  think  I  am  in  love  with  Hilda  ?  "  he 
inquired,  with  pretended  calmness. 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  replied  quickly,  in  a  tone  of  hon- 
est conviction — "  no,  Leo.  I  have  too  high  an  opin- 
ion of  you  both  to  suppose  you  capable  of  an  or- 
dinary intrigue.  But  you  love  her,  and  I  am  sorry 
for  you — I  am  frightfully  sorry  for  you  both,  but," 
and  she  put  her  hands  up  before  her  face,  "  we  are 
here — the  Mouse  and  I — and  we  cannot  vanish  off 
the  face  of  the  earth." 


Misjudged,  219 


Strong  sobs  shook  her  frame  which  she  strove  in 
vain  to  conquer,  and  when  she  at  last  succeeded, 
she  went  up  to  him.  He  was  standing  in  front  of 
her  bookshelves  as  if  he  were  examining  the  little 
library,  though  he  really  saw  and  felt  nothing  but 
the  "tactless  sentimentality  of  a  jealous  woman." 

"  Leo,"  she  began,  "  please,  please  try  and  have 
confidence  in  me  !  I  will  help  you  to  overcome  it. 
I  will  be  your  faithful  friend,  I  will  do  anything. 
Think  of  your  child.  It  must  not  perceive,  as  it? 
mind  awakens,  that  you  and  I " 

He  turned  upon  her  in  anger  that  would  not  be 
controlled. 

"Will  you  make  my  wretched, existence  a  perfect 
hell  upon  earth  ? "  he  cried,  his  face  as  white  as 
chalk.  "  Is  it  not  enough  that  you  should  not  have 
the  faintest  sympathy  or  understanding  for  my 
career,  for  my  tastes,  for  my  whole  character? 
Will  you  rob  me  of  all  that  gives  pleasure  to  my 
eye  as  an  artist,  to  my  mind  as  a  cultivated  man  ? 
Will  you,  with  your  horrible  prosaic  nature,  drive 
me  from  the  last  corner  in  which  my  much-abused 
artistic  nature  has  taken  refuge  ?  Merciful  Heavens, 
what  might  I  not  become  if  you  were  not  the  fetter 
to  drag  me  down — yes,  a  fetter  more  horrible  than 
any  criminal  drags  about  with  him  !  " 

He  stopped  suddenly.  Antje  stood  before  him 
strangely  tall  and  erect.  She  had  never  looked  so 
imposing  to  him,  and  never  had  he  seen  her  soft 
face  so  rigid  in  its  icy  coldness,  its  unapproachable 
pride.     She  seemed  like  another  being. 

"  I  will  no  longer  be  a  fetter  for  you,"  she  said, 
clearly  and  firmlv.     **  You  are  free,  Leo,  free  from 


ito  Misjudged, 


this  moment.  I  did  not  dream  that  you  had  suffered 
so  much  through  me.  God  knows  that  I  have  al- 
ways had  in  mind  the  words  you  spoke  when  you 
begged  me  to  be  your  wife :  *  I  think,  Anna,  you 
could  reconcile  me  to  life  again.'  God  knows,  I 
have  wished  to  do  so,  Leo,  honestly  wished  it.  1 
must  have  blundered  frightfully,  I " 

She  leaned  suddenly  against  the  back  of  a  chair 
beside  her ;  a  deep  flush  had  overspread  her  face. 
"  I  only  ask — it  is  so  fearful  that  it  should  all  come 
at  once — remember  that  my  mother  may  be  dying 
at  this  moment — let  it  be  kept  secret  between  us 
till  she — is  better,  or  dead.  Do  not  let  my  poor  old 
mother  hear  in  her  severe  illness,  perhaps  in  her 
very  last  hour,  that  I  have  come  home  so  poor,  so 
beggared  in  happiness." 

He  tried  to  say  something  about  exaggeration, 
about  words  that  should  not  be  taken  so  literally, 
but  instead  he  rushed  to  the  bell — Antje  had  sud- 
denly fallen ;  she  lay  with  her  head  on  the  seat  of 
the  chair,  speechless,  motionless.  He  lifted  her  up 
and  carried  her  to  the  sofa.  Old  Classen  rushed  in 
and  thrust  away  his  trembling  hands. 

"You  had  better  go  away,"  she  said,  harshly, 
"and  send  for  the  doctor.  I  have  seen  her  like 
this  before." 

And  she  stroked  her  mistress's  grief-stricken  face, 
and  smoothed  out  her  dress. 

He  stood  as  if  rooted  to  the  floor. 

"Will  you  be  so  kind  as  to  go,  Herr  Jussnitz," 
said  the  old  woman,  reproachfully.  "  These  fainting- 
fits last  a  long  time  ;  I  know  it  from  that  time  when 
you  were  brought  into  the  house  for  dead.     She 


Misjudged.  221 


had  one  then  for  the  first  time ;  and  then,  again, 
when  Herr  Frey  wouldn't  give  his  consent  to  your 
marrying  the  child.  Do  you  see  ?  It  all  comes 
from  trouble  of  some  kind.  Nothing  comes  from 
nothing.  Sir,  go,  for  pity's  sake ! "  she  repeated 
impatiently. 

Then  at  last  he  left  the  room. 


CHAPTEP  XVI. 

Hilda  did  not  sleep  a  i  all  that  night.  She  did 
not  even  go  to  bed.  Whf  n  the  first  gray  dawn  came 
in  through  the  curtains  and  struggled  with  the  dying 
iamp-light,  she  was  still  sitting  in  the  cold  room  in 
her  rocking-chair,  crying  and  shivering.  The  things 
she  had  taken  out  of  the  drawers  and  wardrobes  to 
pack  up  were  lying  about  on  chairs  and  tables  ;  and 
there  lay  also  a  letter  which  she  had  written,  ad- 
dressed to  Frau  Jussnitz. 

She  had  not  got  on  very  well  with  her  prepara- 
tions for  departure.  An  intolerable  heaviness 
seemed  to  weigh  down  her  limbs,  and  so  she  had 
finally  sunk  into  a  chair,  clasped  her  hands  together, 
and  had  lived  through  again  in  memory  each  day  of 
her  sojourn  here  in  this  house. 

And  in  this  survey  of  the  past  she  found  no  com- 
fort in  the  fact  that  her  pride  said  to  her  uneasy 
conscience  :  "They  forced  me  to  it.  I  only  wished 
to  show  that  I  did  not  love  him.  I  only  wanted  to 
;rteel  myself  to  the  consciousness  that  he  could  not 
be  mine."  Again  and  again  came  the  reproachful 
thought :  "  I  have  thrust  myself  between  those  two. 
I  have  been  the  means  of  separating  them." 

And  what  now  ? 

Ah,  yes,  what  now  ?  She  thrust  her  trembling 
hand  into  her  tangled  hair.  She  felt  as  if  she  must 
see  his  wife's  eyes,  those  eyes  sad  as  death,  as  long 


Misjudged.  223 


as  she  lived.  They  would  look  reproachfully  at  her 
in  her  last  hour.  She  had  never  thought  of  that — 
that  this  woman  possessed  a  heart,  that  she  loved 
her  husband.  Love  to  her  meant  constant  demon- 
stration, caresses,  worship,  and  clinging  ;  or  else — 
caprices,  tears,  little  quarrels  and  reconciliations. 
This  woman  was  so  quiet,  so  patient,  so  unassuming 
and  unexacting. 

Hilda  tried  to  imagine  herself  in  Antje*s  position. 
With  burning  blushes  she  imagined  the  man  she 
loved  at  the  feet  of  another,  of  one  upon  whom  she 
herself  had  showered  kindnesses,  whom  she  had 
welcomed  to  the  house  and  treated  like  an  honored 
guest — and  her  blood  boiled  in  anger,  and  she 
clenched  her  hands  involuntarily.  Oh,  she !  She 
would  have  sprung  upon  that  other  and  would  have 
struck  her  in  the  face.  But  Antje  did  nothing  of 
all  this.  Only  one  look — but  that  was  blasting.  Oh, 
how  it  had  scorched  her !  The  girl  sank  back  and 
sobbed  on  her  cushions. 

"  What  now  ?  What  now  ?  "  she  asked  herself 
again  and  again.  "  Home  !  I  will  go  home  at 
once  !  "  she  cried  at  last. 

As  if  they  could  not  see  there  at  once  that  she, 
Hilda  von  Zweidorf^  who  had  always  been  so  severe 
a  judge  of  all  unworthy  conduct,  was  herself  guilty 
of  such  baseness  !  And  for  what  ?  To  revenge 
herself  for  a  disappointed  hope,  such  as  any  one 
else  would  have  hidden  away  in  her  own  heart. 
Ah,  no ;  that  was  her  only  excuse — she  had  loved 
him,  had  loved  him  so  dearly.  And  what  if  her 
father  should  hear  it?  What  if  the  injured  wife 
should  write  to  him :  "  I  cannot  keep  your  daughter 


234  Misjudged, 


any  longer  under  my  roof,  because  she  has  an  in- 
trigue with " 

She  started  up  as  if  she  had  been  stung.  "  It  is 
not  true,  father,"  she  cried,  aloud.  "  God  knows  I 
have  not  been  wicked  !  " 

Something  moved  in  th2  room.  Hilda's  senses 
were  all  in  confusion.  With  a  wild  scream  of  terror 
she  fell  on  her  knees  and  stared  with  horrified  eyes 
at  the  figure  with  the  strangely  white  face  which, 
only  dimly  visible  in  the  faint  gray  dawn,  stood  at 
the  end  of  the  room. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  startled  you,  Fraulein  von  Zwei- 
dorf.  I  am  very  sorry,"  said  Antje's  pleasant  voice. 
"  I  knocked  twice,  but  you  did  not  hear." 

And  she  bent  down,  took  Hilda's  trembling  hands 
in  her  own,  and  looked  into  the  girl's  face.  "  Have 
you  not  been  to  bed  at  all  ?  You  will  make  your- 
self ill.    Lie  down  now,  and  I  will  get  you  some  tea." 

She  rang  the  bell  and  tried  to  lead  Hilda  to- 
ward the  bed,  but  the  girl  resisted,  covering  her 
face  with  her  hands  with  a  groan, 

"  Poor  child  !  "  thought  Antje. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  do  not  be  so  kind  to  me  ! 
Scold  me,  strike  me,  trample  me  under  your 
feet  !  "  Hilda  tried  to  say,  but  she  produced  only 
unintelligible  sounds.  Speechless  and  trembling, 
she  clasped  the  knees  of  the  young  wife.  Antje 
understood  her. 

"  Do  get  up,  Hilda,"  she  said,  mildly.  "  I  know 
best  how  fond  of  him  one  may  get " 

But  Hilda  only  clung  the  closer. 

*'  Get  up,"  repeated  Antje.  "  I  want  to  talk  to 
you." 


Misjudged.  225 


Upon  this  Hilda  rose  to  her  feet  and  remained 
standing  with  bent  head  before  Antje,  her  clasped 
hands  pressed  against  her  lips,  her  beautiful  face  as 
white  as  death. 

"  I  have  a  favor  to  ask  of  you,"  began  Antje. 
"  May  I  go  on  ?  " 

Hilda  nodded. 

"  I  am  obliged  to  go  away  in  a  few  hours,"  con- 
tinued the  young  wife,  in  hesitating  tones.  "  I  shall 
have  to  stay  away  some  time,  because — because  my 
mother — is  very  ill.  You  cannot  very  well  stay 
here  alom — and  so  I  wish  you  to  go  with  baby  and 
me  to  my  own  home." 

Hilda  made  no  reply.  Antje  had  turned  away  as 
II  she  were  looking  round  the  room. 

"  No,"  said  Hilda,  at  length,  in  a  hoarse  tone  ;  "  I 
will — I  am  going — if  it  is  necessary,  I  can  go  back 
to  Aunt  Polly." 

"  Do  not  do  that !  You  will  be  doing  me  a  favor 
if  you  will  come  with  me ;  more  than  that — a  kind- 
ness. I  know  you  will  not  refuse  me  this  to-day — 
you  cannot  do  it !  " 

"  Does  my  presence  give  you  any  pleasure  ? " 
Hilda  forced  a  laugh  and  brushed  the  hair  back 
from  her  forehead.  "  It  is  true  that  to-day  I  cannot 
deny  you  anything,"  she  continued  ;   "  but " 


"  Ask  no  questions,"  entreated  Antje,  "  but  pack 
up  your  things,  for  we  must  leave  at  eleven,  as  soon 
as  my — as  soon  as  Leo  has  gone  to  town." 

She  pressed  Hilda's  hand  and  left  the  room.  In 
a  moment  she  came  back  again.  She  could  not 
have  more  than  reached  the  door.  She  said  hastily, 
while   a   deep  flush  overspread  her   cheeks :    "  If 


226  Misjudge  di 


you  wish  to  see  Leo  again,  you  will  have  to  let  him 
know  very  soon,  for  he  is  going  to  drive  into  Dres- 
den this  morning." 

Hilda  drew  herself  up  proudly.  "  I  have  nothing 
to  say  to  your  husband,"  she  replied. 

Antje  looked  at  her  sadly.  She  was  evidently 
about  to  say  something,  but  she  controlled  herself. 
*^Auf  wiedersehefty  then,"  she  said,  nodding. 

The  first  sunbeam  which  stole  through  the  win- 
dows of  Schloss  Sibyllenburg  looked  on  a  busy  scene. 
Old  Classen  was  standing  before  her  mistress,  hold- 
ing the  key-basket,  Antje's  inseparable  companion, 
in  her  hands. 

"  I  know,  Classen,  that  you  will  be  as  careful  about 
the  house  as  if  it  were  your  own,"  said  Antje,  with  a 
faint  smile.  "  Make  your  master  as  comfortable  as 
you  can;  the  time  of  my  return  is  in  God's  hands,  dear 
Classen.    Who  knows  how  things  may  be  at  home  ?  " 

"  You  will  soon  know  whether  it  is  to  be  good  or 
ill,  gracious  lady,"  said  the  old  woman.  "  Please 
God,  you  will  be  back  home  in  four  weeks'  time.  I 
can't  fancy  the  house  without  you,  though  I  will  do 
my  best.  It  will  be  like  a  room  from  which  the 
lamp  has  been  carried  out,  when  the  carriage  drives 
away  with  you  and  the  baby.  But,  gracious  lady, 
will  you  not  go  and  have  your  breakfast  with  the 
master  ?     He  is  in  the  dining-room  now." 

"  I  have  already  said  good-by  to  him,  Classen." 

"  Good  gracious,  ma'am,  how  pale  you  look  !  But 
that  is  all  your  own  obstinacy — you  would  sleep  on 
that  miserable  sofa  all  night," 

"  Classen,  I  cried  all  night,  after  I  came  to  my- 
self, till  this   morning ;  but  why  should  I  disturb 


Misjudged.  227 


your  master  ?    It  is  better  to  keep  one's  anxiety  and 
distress  to  one's  self." 

"  It  certainly  would  be  a  dreadful  thing  if  he 
should  lose  a  night's  sleep  for  once !  "  thought  Frau 
Classen,  grimly,  as  she  looked  at  the  narrow,  uncom- 
fortable sofa  on  which  her  young  mistress  had  spent 
the  night.  Then  she  added  aloud,  with  a  deep 
sigh  :  "  Oh,  I  will  take  care  of  him ;  I  know  all 
his  favorite  dishes  ;  you  can  be  quite  easy  about 
him,  ma'am,  I  should  like  best  to  be  going  with 
you  as  nurse." 

And  she  turned  sobbing  away  and  went  down- 
stairs into  her  kitchen  with  Antje's  key-basket. 
There  she  put  it  in  the  cupboard  behind  the  shin- 
ing glass  doors,  and,  drying  her  eyes  with  the  cor- 
ner of  her  apron,  she  declared  that  she  felt  just  as  if 
some  great  misfortune  were  coming  to  this  house. 

Antje,  quite  broken  down,  had  locked  herself  into 
her  room  ;  she  had  sent  the  child  downstairs  with 
its  nurse  to  say  good-by  to  papa.  She  was  quite 
crushed  and  broken,  and  she  felt  a  sharp  phys- 
ical pain  in  the  region  of  the  heart.  The  beating  of 
the  poor,  tortured  heart  was  irregular  as  the  terrified 
flutterings  of  some  imprisoned  bird.  She  thought 
he  must  come,  with  the  child  in  his  arms  ;  he  must 
say  :  "  It  is  impossible,  Antje,  that  you  should  be 
going  away  forever  ;  stay  here  with  me  !  " 

But  he  could  not  do  that  !  It  would  be  hypocrisy, 
it  would  be  a  ne ;  he  did  not  love  her.  It  would 
only  have  been  a  continuation  of  the  same  old 
miserable  existence.  No,  he  could  not  keep  her, 
and  shf  -  could  not  stay.     It  was  all  over  ! 

Ther  ..oe  suddenly  started  up  ;  the  child's  voice 


228  Misjudged. 


sounded  in  the  corridor.  Her  head  swam  in  her 
dread  of  seeing  him  again  ;  she  shuddered  at  the  tor- 
ture of  this  parting,  and  yet — ah,  it  was  only  the 
nurse. 

*'  Can  you  keep  the  baby  with  you  for  a  few 
minutes,  ma'am  ?  "  she  inquired.  *'  I  would  like  to 
pack  up  my  things."  And  she  put  the  child  down 
on  the  floor  in  front  of  its  mother. 

"  Jump  me,  mamma  !  "  said  the  little  one. 

Antje's  trembling  hands  caught  up  the  light  little 
creature.  "  Mouse,"  she  stammered  out,  "  did  papa 
give  you  a  kiss  ?    What  did  papa  say  ?  " 

"  Papa  say  nothing,"  replied  the  child. 

"  The  master  kissed  her  little  hand,"  called  back 
the  nurse  from  the  doorway.  **  I  think  he  was  in  a 
^reat  hurry." 

Antje  fixed  her  burning  eyes  on  the  child  and 
put  the  little  hand  to  her  lips. 

**  Was  it  so  easy  for  him,  Mousie,  so  very  easy  ?  " 
she  murmured. 

Then  she  saw  a  dark  spot  on  the  pale  blue  bow 
which  adorned  the  child's  dainty  sleeve  at  the  wrist. 
"  Perhaps  he  shed  a  tear  over  you,  you  poor  little 
baby.  It  must  be  a  tear,  he  could  not  be  so  heart- 
less. Mamma  will  keep  the  bow  for  you.  Who 
knows  that  it  may  not  some  day  be  the  only  proof 
that  your  father  ever  loved  you,  Mousie  !  "  And 
she  took  off  the  bow  and  hid  it  in  her  prayer-book, 
which  lay  at  the  top  of  the  open  trunk. 

Down  in  the  court  the  coupe  drove  up  to  the 
door.  Antje  heard  it  from  the  window,  but  she  did 
not  stir.  Would  he  really  go  away  w' i;  mt  once 
coming  to  see  her  ? 


Misjudgea.  229 


At  length  she  got  up,  took  the  child  in  her  arms, 
and  went  to  the  window.  She  saw  Leo  standing  on 
the  steps,  she  saw  him  look  up  at  Hilda's  window, 
and  then  get  into  che  carriage.  The  carriage  drove 
away  through  the  open  gateway,  and  she  followed 
it  with  her  eyes  till  it  disappeared  round  the  comer 
of  the  garden-wall. 

With  tottering  steps  she  carried  the  child  back 
to  the  nursery  and  fled  into  the  studio,  which  she 
locked  behind  her. 

She  was  still  there  when  the  carriage  drove  up  to 
take  her  to  the  station. 

Old  Classen  knocked  vigorously  at  the  door. 

"  Gracious  lady,  it  is  time  to  go !  The  trunks 
are  fastened  on  the  carriage,  and  the  others  have 
got  in." 

The  door  opened,  and  the  young  mistress  came 
out  and  walked  past  her  faithful  servant.  "  Like  a 
ghost,"  said  the  footman,  who  was  standing  behind 
the  old  woman  with  her  fur  cloak  on  his  arm. 

She  came  back  almost  immediately  with  her  hat 
and  gloves  on,  and  allowed  them  to  put  on  her  cloak. 
Then,  without  looking  round  or  saying  a  word,  she 
descended  the  stairs  and  got  into  the  carriage,  in 
which  Hilda  and  the  nurse  and  baby  were  already 
seated. 

The  housemaid  looked  inquiringly  at  the  weep- 
ing Classen,  when  the  footman  shut  the  carriage 
door  and  swung  himself  up  on  the  box.  Her 
mistress  had  not  even  said  good-by  ! 

And  the  carriage  drove  out  of  the  court-yard, 
and  the  wall  snut  out  the  view  of  the  deserted 
bouse.      Antie   turned   her   head   away   from   the 


23©  Misjudged. 


trees  in  the  garden,  whose  budding  branches  were 
swaying  over  the  wall  in  the  spring  breezes,  as 
if  they  were  sending  their  parting  greetings  to 
her  and  wishing  her  a  happy  return.  She  sat 
up  straight  in  the  carriage  and  looked  out  to- 
ward Dresden.  The  towers  of  the  city  were 
not  visible  to-day  ;  all  were  swallowed  up  in  mist 
and  clouds.  The  sun,  which  had  shone  in  the 
morning  with  such  a  golden  light,  was  now  hid- 
den by  clouds.  A  few  rain-drops  pattered  against 
the  carriage  windows,  like  heavy  tear-drops. 

Hilda  crushed  her  handkerchief  inside  her  muff, 
but  not  a  muscle  of  the  pale,  gloomy  face  moved. 
She  would  so  gladly  have  fled  far  away,  and  yet  she 
could  not,  for  this  pale  woman  beside  her  would 
think  she  could  not  go  far  enough  away,  not  far 
enough  from  him.  The  carriage  stopped  at  the 
little  station.  Antje  stood  up  to  get  out,  but  she 
stopped.  There  at  the  carriage  door  stood  Leo, 
offering  her  his  hand. 

She  stood  calmly  beside  him,  and  her  heart  ceased 
its  wild  throbbing.  It  was  only  for  appearance's 
sake  that  he  bought  her  tickets  and  had  her  trunks 
weighed.     He  was  fulfilling  her  last  wish. 

"  For  what  place  shall  I  take  your  ticket,  Frau- 
lein  von  Zweidorf  ? "  he  inquired  of  Hilda,  lifting 
his  hat. 

"  I  am  going  with  Frau  Jussnitz,"  she  replied. 

He  cast  a  glance  of  surprise  at  Antje.  She  was 
pulling  the  bows  straight  in  the  child's  hat,  but  she 
felt  her  face  flush — he  had  only  come  to  see  Hilda 
once  more  !  Perhaps  he  would  think  she  was  tak- 
ing the  girl  with  her  to  remove  her  from  him  ! 


Misjudged,  231 


Out  of  jealousy  ?  Oh,  no  ;  he  could  not  know  so 
little  of  her  as  that ! 

They  had  a  long  time  to  wait,  fully  fifteen  min- 
utes. They  found  some  acquaintances  in  the  hot 
little  waiting-room — General  Rosen,  with  his  kind- 
hearted  wife,  one  of  those  old  ladies  who,  on  ac- 
count of  her  kindness,  had  been  Antje's  refuge  at 
her  balls  and  parties.  She  came  up  to  Antje  with 
both  hands  extended. 

"  Dear  Frau  Jussnitz,  I  have  just  heard  from  your 
husband  that  you  are  bound  on  a  sorrowful  errand, 
that  your  mother  is  very  ill." 

Hilda,  who  was  standing  beside  Antje,  and  made 
a  low  bow  to  the  old  lady,  was  entirely  overlooked 
by  her.  Antje  flushed.  This  intentional  oversight 
— for  it  could  be  nothing  else — showed  her  that 
gossip  had  already  been  busy  with  the  young  girl's 
name  in  the  circle  in  which  they  moved.  Therefore, 
after  a  few  words  of  thanks,  she  added  :  "  I  am  so 
fortunate,  your  excellency,  in  not  having  to  travel 
alone  ;  my  young  friend  here  is  so  kind  as  to  ac- 
company me." 

Leo  did  not  hear,  he  was  talking  with  the  old 
general ;  but  Frau  Rosen,  after  a  moment's  surprise, 
turned  to  the  young  girl  and  spoke  a  few  friendly 
words. 

At  last  the  train  came  in.  In  the  hurry  of  depart- 
ure no  one  noticed  that  all  farewells  between  them 
were  omitted  ;  only  Antje  held  out  the  child  to  her 
father,  then  he  put  it  into  the  carriage  with  her. 

Hilda  had  got  in  first,  and  the  nurse  was  the  last. 
Jussnitz  stood  on  the  platform  with  lifted  hat,  and 
looked  down  the  rails,  which  melted  into  one  far 


832  Misjudged. 


below  by  the  pine-woods.  When  the  train  started, 
Antje  felt  as  if  she  must  stop  it  with  all  the  strength 
of  despair.  But  it  kept  remorselessly  on  its  way  ; 
the  little  station  disappeared  from  sight,  and  she 
was  borne  away,  away,  perhaps — nay,  probably — 
never  to  return. 

From  the  opposite  hill  the  summer-house  at  the 
end  of  the  vineyard  came  into  view  ;  then  that  too 
disappeared,  and  she  saw  nothing  more,  only  mo- 
notonous pine- woods  and  deserted  fields. 


CHAPTER  XVIL 

The  great  iron-works  "  Gottessegen,"  and  the  lit- 
tle village  of  Oberrode  are  situated  in  the  very  heart 
of  the  green  beech-woods  of  the  Harz,  far  away 
from  the  railroad  and  the  populous  cities.  From 
the  last  station  on  the  railroad,  which  stops  at  a 
celebrated  watering-place  in  the  Harz,  there  is  a 
two-hours'  carriage  drive  before  the  first  houses  of 
Oberrode  come  into  view.  A  constantly  ascending, 
well-kept  high-road  leads  to  this  remote  place,  a 
road  which  the  horses  traverse  slowly  ;  but  in  spite 
of  this  it  never  seems  long  to  the  tourists  wend- 
ing their  way  Brockenwards,  there  is  such  a  wonder- 
ful alternation  of  dark  forests  and  blue  misty  dis- 
tances, the  air  is  so  pure  and  sweet,  and  the  gay 
little  mountain  streams  chatter  so  mysteriously  far 
down  in  the  ravines  among  the  damp,  luxuriant 
ferns. 

There  is  something  peculiar  about  the  Harz  for- 
ests. The  air  in  them  seems  to  be  more  invigorat- 
ing than  that  of  other  mountainous  regions.  At 
least  that  is  the  opinion  of  those  who  were  born 
there,  and  they  think  also  that  their  home  is  more 
beautiful  than  any  to  be  found  among  all  the  Ger- 
man mountains,  for  Goethe  himself  has  described  it 
and  Heine  has  sung  its  praises.  It  would  seem  as  if 
the  witches  and  the  gnomes  had  laid  every  one  who 


234  Misjudged. 


had   ever  trodden  those  green  paths,  under  their 
spell. 

Light  was  streaming  out  of  the  little  heart-shaped 
openings  in  the  heavy  window  blinds  of  the  dwell- 
ing-house, which  stood  a  little  aside  from  the  huge 
black  buildings  of  the  iron-works.  Every  child 
about  the  place  knew  those  six  shining  hearts ; 
their  friendly  light  was  a  token  of  all  the  pleasure, 
gayety,  and  happiness  that  the  youthful  Oberroders 
had  ever  known;  for  these  hearts  shone  out  from 
the  great  sitting-room  of  Frau  Bergrath  Frey,  in 
which  every  Christmas  the  great  tree  appeared  in 
all  the  splendor  of  its  lighted  tapers  and  with  the 
gifts  for  each  one  of  them  laid  underneath. 

Yes,  the  workmen's  children  loved  the  stately 
Frau  Bergrath,  who  was,  moreover,  godmother  to 
the  greater  nun^her  of  them ;  and  no  village  child 
ever  ventured  to  boast  of  having  received  any  very 
great  favors  from  their  Lady  Bountiful,  at  the  risk 
of  hearing  from  a  workman's  child  :  "  Oh,  you 
needn't  boast ;  she  don't  care  iox  you  I  We  get  all 
the  good  things  ;  she  is  our  Frau  Bergrath  !  She 
only  gives  you  a  little  bit  so  you  needn't  feel  left 
out  !  " 

But  to-day  the  children  were  huddling  together 
in  their  own  homes,  listening  to  the  wild  storm  out 
side  and  looking  sadly  across  the  broad  common  ?4 
the  flaming  hearts  in  the  big  house,  and  saying  to 
their  mothers  :  "  Will  she  really  die,  our  Frau  Ber^f' 
rathin  ?  "  The  mothers  wiped  their  eyes  and  nod- 
ded. "  Yes  ;  there  is  no  hope  ;  and  what  we  shall 
do  then  God  only  knows  I  " 

And  the  work-people  were  saying  the  same  thing 


Misjudged,  235 


between  the  blows  of  the  heavy  hammers,  before 
the  red  glow  of  the  forge  fires.  What  would  they 
all  do  if  she  died  ? 

The  old  superintendent,  Kortmer,  asked  the  same 
question,  in  the  sick  woman's  sitting-room,  of  Dr 
Maiberg,  who  walked  incessantly  up  and  down  the 
dark  oak  floor.  *' Ah,  if  Frau  Jussnitz  were  only 
here,  Herr  Doctor  !  " 

"  She  may  be  here  at  any  moment  now.  Hen 
Kortmer." 

"  Then  her  mother  will  get  better.  You  can  have 
no  idea  of  how  anxious  she  has  been  about  the 
child  ever  since  they  brought  in  her  future  son-in- 
law,  about  five  years  ago.  You  know  he  met  with 
an  accident,  Herr  Doctor,  out  shooting.  He  was 
an  artist  and  came  here  to  paint,  and  took  a  fancy 
to  go  shooting,  and  thought  a  gun  was  as  easy  to 
manage  as  his  mahlstick.  Pardautz  !  He  did  get 
into  trouble  !  Well,  as  I  was  saying,  from  the  mo- 
ment that  he  was  brought  in  here,  she  has  never 
had  an  easy  moment.  Love  is  a  curious  thing,  and 
a  girl's  heart  is  past  my  understanding.  Who  would 
have  thought  that  'our  Antje  '  would  take  up  with 
a  man  like  him  ?  " 

"  My  friend,  my  dear  Herr  Kortmer,  is  just  tht 
sort  of  person  to  win  a  girl's  heart." 

"  Your  friend,  Herr  Doctor  ?  Oh,  in  that  case — I 
had  better  have  held  my  tongue. " 

"  Least  said,  soonest  mended,"  replied  Maiberg 
with  a  smile,  looking  at  the  little  old  man,  who  was 
polishing  his  spectacles  with  his  red  silk  handker- 
chief, and  then  with  a  swift  movement  put  them 
back  on  his  hooked   nose,  which,   in  conjunction 


236  Misjudged, 


with  two  big  round  goggles  and  the  shock  of  Wiite 
hair  over  the  forehead,  lent  to  the  face  some  resem- 
blance to  a  parrot,  though  without  detracting  at  all 
from  its  amiability. 

The  superintendent  was  a  really  very  nice  old 
man  and  an  absolutely  reliable  official,  who  would 
have  laid  down  his  life  for  any  of  the  Frey  family, 
quite  undisturbed  by  the  fact  that  his  wife  would 
thereby  become  a  widow. 

"That  is  always  best,  Herr  Kortmer.  I  have 
known  Jussnitz  a  long  time  now,  ever  since  I  was 
in  the  first  form.  I  have  seen  him  play  all  sorts  of 
mad  pranks,  but  have  never  known  him  do  any- 
thing that  was  bad.  He  is  eccentric,  he  is  extrava- 
gant, he  is  not  an  accountant,  but  he  is  a  really 
good  fellow,  and  there  is  only  one  thing  that  makes 
me  anxious  about  him." 

"  You  mean  that  his  wife  isn't  suited  to  him  ? 
Nay,  dear  Herr  Doctor,  that  is  no  news  ;  we  all 
know  that,  every  child  about  the  place  knows  that." 

"  No,  Herr  Kortmer,  that  is  not  what  I  was  going 
to  say.  What  I  did  mean  was  that  he  is  too  prosper- 
ous." 

The  other  made  no  reply,  for  Hanna,  the  old 
housekeeper,  came  in  just  then,  and  reported  that 
the  patient  had  gone  to  sleep  after  she  had  taken 
her  medicine. 

"  The  rooms  for  Frau  Jussnitz  and  the  child  and 
nurse  are  ready,"  she  added,  "and  I  only  wish  they 
had  got  here  safely.  Such  an  awful  storm  as  it  is ! 
It  is  raining  and  snowing  all  at  once,  and  the  roads 
are  one  sheet  of  ice." 

Maiberg  stood  listening  at  the  window,  which  he 


Misjudged.  237 


had  opened.  "The  carriage  is  coming  now,"  he 
said  quietly,  walking  toward  the  door. 

In  the  hall,  which  according  to  old  custom  was 
placed  in  the  middle  of  the  house  with  great  waste 
of  space,  and  which  by  the  carved  beams  under  the 
ceiling  and  the  panelling  of  the  walls  showed  that 
the  original  destiny  of  the  house  had  been  that  of  a 
ducal  hunting-lodge,  the  housekeeper  had  thrown 
the  door  wide  open,  so  that  the  wind  blew  the  rain 
in  in  streams.  The  great  lamp  was  lighted,  but  the 
wreaths  which  the  maids  had  hung  up  in  token  of 
welcome,  the  old  Mamselle  had  had  taken  down 
again. 

"  Good  Heavens  !  is  the  poor  young  thing  com- 
ing home  for  pleasure  ?  "  she  had  cried.  "  Spare 
your  wreaths  ;  unhappily,  there  may  soon  be  another 
occasion  for  which  we  shall  need  them. " 

In  spite  of  the  rain  she  ran  down  the  steps ;  her 
white  apron  streamed  behind  her  like  a  white  ban- 
ner in  the  darkness,  and  before  Maiberg  and  Kort- 
mer  could  get  there  she  had  flung  open  the  door 
of  the  carriage  and  called  out  :  "  Good-evening ! 
Good-evening !  Good  Heavens,  such  a  storm  as 
it  is,  Frau  Jussnitz !  and  with  the  little  baby, 
too!" 

But  the  person  addressed  did  not  accept  the 
offered  hand  ;  the  figure  that  slipped  out  of  the 
carriage  and  stood  on  the  wet  gravel,  in  which 
the  light  of  the  hall  lamp  was  reflected,  was  that  of 
a  stranger,  was — could  that  really  be  Hildegarde 
von  Zweidorf,  that  pale,  haggard  face  with  the  sad, 
weary  eyes  ?  Maiberg  was  quite  shocked  as  he 
came  up. 


238  Misjudged. 


"  Friiulein  von  Zweidorf,  is  it  you  ? "  he  stam- 
mered.    "  Is  Antje — is  Frau  Jussnitz " 

**  How  is  my  mother  ?  "  now  sounded  close  be- 
side him.  There  stood  Antje  with  her  child  on  her 
arm. 

"  Herr  Doctor,  dear  Herr  Kortmer,  I  am  not  too 
late  ? " 

When  this  question  was  answered  in  the  nega- 
tive, Antje  tottered  and  nearly  fell — the  fearful 
strain  was  removed.  Leaning  on  Maiberg's  arm, 
she  crossed  the  threshold  of  her  old  home.  With 
his  soothing  calmness  he  scarcely  spoke  of  the  sick 
woman,  only  saying  that  she  was  asleep,  her  daugh- 
ter could  see  her  later.  At  present  she  must  take 
some  food,  change  her  clothes,  and  put  the  child 
to  bed. 

And  he  was  obeyed.  The  ladies  mounted  the 
broad  old  staircase  to  the  next  floor.  The  house- 
keeper carried  the  child,  who  was  sleeping  soundly 
and  sweetly. 

"  We  have  been  expecting  you  ever  since  three 
o'clock  this  afternoon,  Frau  Jussnitz.  Were  the 
roads  so  bad  that  you  could  not  get  here  earlier  ?  " 

"  No,  it  was  not  on  account  of  the  roads,  but  it 
was  the  fault  of  my  nurse  that  we  had  to  take  a 
later  train,"  replied  Antje,  in  a  whisper,  as  she 
passed  down  the  broad  corridor,  touching  caress- 
ingly the  old  presses  as  they  passed.  "  We  stopped 
for  the  night  in  Halle  on  account  of  the  child,  and 
this  morning  the  old  nurse  suddenly  declared  that 
she  would  not  go  any  further.  All  my  persuasions 
were  vain.  Is  there  one  of  the  housemaids  trust- 
worthy enough  to  take  her  place  }" 


Misjudged.  239 


She  opened  a  door  at  the  end  of  the  corridor  and 
said  :  "  Is  the  little  one  to  sleep  here,  Hanna  ? 
Probably  I  shall  have  very  little  time  to  attend  to 
her  now,  I —  In  case  of  need  we  shall  have  to  look 
round  and  see  if  any  one  is  to  be  found  at  the  works 
or  in  the  village." 

"  Frau  Jussnitz,"  replied  the  housekeeper,  hesitat- 
ingly, "  as  for  the  maids  here  in  the  house,  good 
Heavens,  they  hardly  know  whether  they  are  on  their 
head  or  their  feet  now,  for  the  work  there  is  to  do. 
Just  fancy,  a  sick  person  in  the  house,  and  the 
doctor,  and  now  you " 

''  May  I — would  you  not  trust  me  to  look  after 
the  little  one  ?  "  inquired  Hildegarde,  and  her  eyes 
looked  up  imploringly  at  Antje. 

"  You  ?  Look  after  a  little  child  ?  "  replied  the 
latter,  smiling  in  spite  of  her  sadness.  "  No,  Frau- 
lein  Hilda,  that  would  never  do." 

Then  the  young  girl  began  to  entreat.  "  Please 
let  me  take  care  of  her,  Frau  Jussnitz.  I  will  watch 
every  step.  I  will  not  sleep  at  night.  I  will  sit  by 
her  bed.     Do  not  refuse  me  this  I  " 

The  young  wife  made  no  reply. 

Hilda  drew  back  with  a  deep  blush,  but  in  her 
eyes  there  was  such  a  hurt  look  that  Antje  said 
quickly  : 

'*  If  you  will  really   take   so  much   trouble  !     I  • 
know  you  will  take  great  care  of  my  Mousie,  because 
she  is — "     She  stopped.     "  His  child,"  she  was  go- 
ing to  say,  but  the  words  remained  unspoken. 

Hilda  did  not  understand  her.  She  had  taken 
oif  her  hat  and  cloak,  and  taken  the  sleeping  child 
from  the  old  woman's  arms. 


24©  Misjudged. 


"  Now  you  can  be  quite  easy,  Frau  Jussnitz,  and 
thank  you  !  "  she  said.  And  Antje  saw  the  tears 
streaming  from  Hilda's  eyes  as  she  sat  down  on  a 
chair  near  the  stove  and  began  to  pull  off  the  vari- 
ous wraps  from  the  child  as  if  she  had  spent  her  life 
doing  nothing  but  wait  on  children. 

Antje  went  away. 

The  room  next  her  mother's  had  been  made  ready 
for  Antje  ;  the  same  in  which  her  father  had 
formerly  slept  and  in  which  he  had  died.  The 
brown  folding-doors  which  connected  the  two  rooms 
were  open.  Antje  signed  to  the  housekeeper  to 
stay  behind,  while  she  glided  across  the  carpet  to 
this  door,  and  there  she  stood  and  listened  to  the 
sounds  that  came  from  the  great  canopied  bed  in 
which  her  mother  lay  ;  the  features  of  the  sleeping 
woman  were  scarcely  visible  in  the  faint  glimmer  of 
the  night-lamp.  She  was  forced  to  put  herself 
under  strong  constraint  to  keep  from  rushing  up  to 
the  bed  and  sinking  down  on  her  knees  before  it 
and  crying  out :  "  Mother,  mother,  I  am  here ! 
Ah,  if  you  knew  how  unhappy  I  am,  how  very  un- 
happy ! " 

She  gave  a  sudden  sob.  This  pleasant  old  home, 
the  memories  that  crowded  upon  her  so  forcibly, 
the  depth  of  her  grief  for  all  she  had  lost  and  for 
all  she  was  about  to  lose,  coming  all  together,  quite 
overpowered  her.  A  feeling  of  utter  weakness  came 
over  her  ;  she  sank  down  on  the  floor  and  scarcely 
knew  what  was  happening  to  her.  Half-unconscious, 
she  heard  the  beating  of  the  storm  against  the 
blinds,  the  pelting  of  the  rain  as  she  had  heard  it 
so  often  as  a  child  in   her  soft,  warm  bed,  which 


Misjudged.  241 


stood  close  beside  her  mother's  ;  as  she  had  heard 
it  in  those  first  sleepless  nights  of  her  maiden  exist- 
ence, those  spring  nights  when  she  thought  she 
could  never  be  glad  again,  that  she  could  not  live 
without  that  pale,  sick  man,  who  had  said  to  her ; 
*'  I  believe  you  could  reconcile  me  again  to  exist- 
ence ;  "  in  those  nights  when,  by  her  father's  de- 
sire, she  had  tried  to  look  on  her  lover  as  lost  to 
her  forever,  and  then — in  that  blessed,  sleepless 
night  when  her  happiness  had  robbed  her  of  slum- 
ber, the  happiness  of  knowing  that  he  was  her  own. 

It  seemed  as  if  she  were  living  this  all  over  again. 
She  heard  the  ticking  pendulum  of  the  tall  clock  ; 
the  dull  thud  of  the  hammers  mingled  with  her 
dreams.  She  heard  her  mother's  heavy  breathing, 
and  held  her  own  breath  in  order  not  to  waken  her. 
It  was  so  sweet,  so  comfortable,  so  safe,  in  this  lofty 
room. 

All  at  once  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  it  were  again  the 
night  before  her  wedding-day.  Was  not  that  her 
wedding-dress  lying  there  ?  The  coals  are  glimmer- 
ing in  the  fire-place — it  is  already  cold  up  here  in 
the  mountains — and  her  mother  has  come  softly  into 
her  room  again  to  kiss  her  ;  but  she  does  not  stir, 
she  pretends  to  be  asleep,  to  hide  from  her 
mother  how  happy  she  is  at  the  thought  of  going 
away  on  the  morrow  with  this  strange  man,  far 
away  from  her  home  forever.  And  the  mother 
weeps  and  prays  by  her  bedside  ;  she  can  hear  it  so 
distinctly,  but  the  voice  is  faint  and  mournful,  like 
the  groans  from  a  weak  chest. 

"  Miist  I  be  unhappy  then,  mother  ?  "  cries  Antje. 

And  then  it  seems  as  if  everything  were  going  round 
16 


342  Misjudged. 


in  a  circle  with  her,  as  if  a  dazzling  light  were  hurt- 
ing her  eyes.  She  tries  to  move  her  limbs,  but  they 
are  as  heavy  as  lead,  and  then  she  feels  herself 
lifted  by  a  strong  arm  and  hears  a  voice  saying : 
"  Bring  some  wine,  Hanna  ;  she  has  fainted.  God 
grant  that  she  may  soon  recover  ;  all  may  be  over 
in  half  an  hour  ;  the  Frau  Bergrath  is  dying." 

This  brought  Antje  back  to  consciousness  at  once. 
She  stood  up  on  her  feet,  and  her  anxious  and  in- 
credulous eyes  sought  Dr.  Maiberg's  face.  "  Dying  ? 
My  mother — now — dying  now  ? "  And  with  totter- 
ing steps  she  went  into  the  sick-room  and  sank  down 
by  her  mother's  bed.  I 

"  Mother  !  "  she  cried,  low  and  tenderly ;  *'  mother, 
I  am  here — your  Antje.     Don't  you  know  me  ?  " 

The  hand  which  was  already  growing  cold  did 
not  return  her  pressure,  but  the  eyes  turned  slowly 
toward  her  and  an  almost  unearthly  light  came  into 
them.  Antje  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  and 
threw  her  arm  round  the  dying  woman's  neck  ;  her 
head  bent  down  over  the  gray  head  ;  her  lips  rested 
on  the  damp  forehead. 

"  Go  to  sleep,  dearest  mother,"  she  said,  softly  ; 
"  I  will  stay  with  you." 

"Antje,"  murmured  the  faint  voice,  "my  last 
will,  Kortmer — my  will " 

"Yes,  mother  ;    everything  shall  be  as  you  wish." 

"  Thank  you,  my  child.  I  mean  it  well.  I  would 
always  do  my  best — Antje — I  am  tired — your  father 
is  calling  me — yes — yes — I  am  coming.  .  .  .  Don't 
cry,  Antje — don't  break  down — be  strong,  my  good 
child  !  " 

"Yes;  I  will  be  strong,"  said  Antje,  and  held 


Misjudged.  243 


her  mother  in  her  arms  till  she  fell  asleep  ;  it  was 
not  long — she  slept  peacefully  away.  At  length 
Antje  laid  the  beloved  head  gently  down  on  the 
pillow,  and  kissed  the  eyes  that  would  never  see 
again. 

Her  former  faintness  came  over  her  again,  but 
she  struggled  against  it  with  all  her  might.  "  I  will 
be  strong  !  "  she  said  again  as  she  went  into  the 
next  room.  There  stood  old  Kortmer  and  Maiberg, 
and  there  were  the  servants  of  the  household,  the 
men  standing  gravely  silent,  the  maids  crying  softly. 
"  My  mother  is  sleeping,"  she  said.  "  Go  to  bed, 
now,  all  of  you.  To-morrow  morning  early  let  some 
one  go  to  the  Herr  Pastor.     I  wish  to  see  him." 

"  I  will  watch  with  you  by  the  Frau  Bergrath, 
Frau  Jussnitz,"  said  the  old  housekeeper,  plead- 
ingly.    But  Antje  shook  her  head. 

"  You  will  need  all  your  strength,  Hanna  ;  you 
must  go  to  bed,  too.  I  need  no  one  with  me  to 
watch  by  my  mother." 

Then  she  went  back  into  the  chamber  of  death. 

The  storm  outside  had  worn  itself  out ;  all  nature 
had  grown  still.  Only  the  work  in  the  forge  went 
on,  and  the  flames  of  the  great  furnaces  cast  their 
reflections  on  the  woods  aad  the  hills  and  even  into 
the  room  of  the  dead  woman.  Antje  had  thrown 
back  the  blinds.  She  had  lighted  no  lamp.  She 
felt  that  the  glow  from  the  great  forge  was  the  fit- 
ting death-light  for  her  who  l'*y  there — the  light 
that  had  shone  over  her  happy,  laborious  life  ;  that 
had  lighted  up  her  labors  of  love  that  had  bright- 
ened the  path  of  duty  in  whiclr  she  had  always 
walked  with  rare  steadfastness. 


244 


Misjudged. 


And  Antje  sat  down  by  the  bed  and  kept  her 
quiet  watch  by  the  most  faithful,  unselfish  heart  to 
be  found  in  all  the  world  ;  the  heart  which,  when 
it  has  once  ceased  to  beat,  nothing  can  replace — the 
heart  of  a  loving  mother. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


"  My  husband  will  not  be  able  to  come,  dear 
Kortmer,"  said  Antje  to  the  little  old  gentleman, 
when  he  expressed  his  surprise  that  the  carriage 
which  he  had  sent  to  the  railroad  station  had  re- 
turned, bringing  the  two  unmarried  sisters  of  the 
late  Bergrath  Frey,  but  without  the  son-in-law  of 
the  dead  woman. 

"  But  my  dear  Frau  Jussnitz,  I  beg  your  par- 
don," said  the  polite  little  man,  "it  is  not  a  ques- 
tion of  being  able  to  come  ;  he  must  come,  for  by  the 
wish  of  our  dear  friend,  the  will  is  to  be  opened 
and  read  immediately  after  the  funeral.  It  says 
expressly  :  *  In  the  presence  of  my  daughter,  Anna 
Jussnitz,  and  her  husband,  Leo  Jussnitz,  as  well  as 
of  all  those  relatives  who  shall  do  me  the  honor  of 
attending  my  funeral.'     So " 

Antje  was  standing  in  the  little  private  study 
which  had  been  her  father's.  It  looked  out  on 
the  iron-works,  and  was  very  plainly  furnished. 
Against  the  wall  stood  a  large,  much-worn  leather- 
covered  sofa,  above  which  a  hanging  clock  swung 
its  pendulum  ;  a  massive  writing-table  of  mahogany 
stood  near  the  window,  on  which  were  placed 
books  and  papers,  bits  of  ore,  plans  for  buildings^ 
and  so  forth,  in  perfect  order. 


246  Misjudged. 


The  middle  of  the  tabls  was  taken  up  by  an 
enormous  inkstand  of  cast-iron.  Antje  knew  it  well ; 
she  could  recall  perfectly  the  first  time  her  father 
ever  used  it.  It  represented  a  locomotive,  the 
boiler  of  which  contained  the  ink.  The  Frau  Berg- 
rath  had  had  it  made  as  emblematic  of  her  hus- 
band's business — railroad  iron — and  felt  very  proud 
of  her  invention. 

Behind  this  extraordinary  inkstand  stood  Herr 
Frey's  photograph. 

Antje's  sad  eyes  wandered  over  these  familiar 
jobjects,  and  her  lips  quivered.  She  recalled  the 
day  when  she  had  crept  softly  into  this  room,  had 
thrown  her  arms  round  her  father's  neck,  had  laid 
her  tearful  face  against  his  cheek,  and  had  said  im- 
ploringly :  "  Father,  father,  give  him  to  me ;  do  not 
make  me  so  unhappy  !  " 

And  he  had  replied  ; 

"  Anna,  your  strong  wish  has  impaired  your  clear 
,bdgment.  I  cannot  imagine  that  man  your  com- 
panion for  life.     You  will  be  unhappy,  my  child." 

But  she  had  begged  and  prayed.  When  did 
strong  passion  ever  listen  to  reason  ?  She  was  not 
differeat  from  other  people.  Does  one  who  really 
loves  ever  see  clearly  ? 

She  had  implored  him  again  and  again  ;  she  had 
gone  down  on  her  knees  to  her  devoted  father,  and 
had  cried :  "  Say  yes,  father.  I  would  a  thousand 
times  rathii  be  unhappy  with  him  than  live  without 
him  ! " 

Then  he  rtad  yielded.  "  But  do  not  blame  me 
when  you  find  yourself  undeceived  ;  do  not  blame 
mer 


Misjudged.  247 


And  Antje  had  kept  her  word.  She  had  never 
complained  when  she  became  conscious  that  she 
had  deceived  herself,  and  that  he  was  disappointed 
in  her. 

She  made  up  her  mind  to  do  her  duty,  and  to 
force  Leo  by  her  example  to  do  his.  She  would  be 
content  with  the  fact  of  living  beside  him,  even 
though  she  was  neglected,  for  the  child's  sake,  in 
the  hope  that  some  time  things  would  mend — and 
then — then  he  had  told  her  that  she  was  the  chain 
that  dragged  him  down,  that  would  not  let  him 
mount  to  the  sunny  heights  of  art ;  and  then  all  her 
strength,  her  hope,  and  her  will  had  given  way. 

"  He  must  come  !  "  said  Kortmer  again.  "  You 
must  send  him  an  urgent  telegram,  Frau  Jussnitz." 

"  No,"  she  said,  raising  her  head  ;  "  he  can  not 
come." 

"  But,  good  Heavens,  my  dear,  g^od  Frau  Antje, 
is  he  ill  ?  " 

"  I  think  not." 

"  Or  is  he  so  embittered  against  youi  another  that 
he  will  not  even  come  to  her  funeral  ?  Or — have 
you  had  a  quarrel  with  him " 

The  young  wife  started  ;  her  hands  dropped  help- 
lessly by  her  side,  and  with  horrified  eyes  she  gazed 
into  Kortmer's  face.  Did  he  suspect,  did  he  already 
know  this  terrible  thing  that  had  happened  ? 

He  stood  before  her  with  an  anxious  face.  "  Don't 
be  angry  with  me,  dear  Frau  Antje,"  he  said.  "  It 
is  absurd  to  say  that,  of  course.  But  whatever  it  is 
that  keeps  him,  it  must  be  put  aside,  for  the  will  re- 
quires his  presence." 

He  felt  so  sorry  for  her  ;  he  knew,  of  course,  that 


94&  Misjudged. 


all  was  not  right  between  them,  knew  it  from  her 
mother,  who  had  unburdened  her  anxious  heart  to 
him  ;  but  the  remark  about  the  quarrel  had  escaped 
his  lips  involuntarily. 

Now  he  had  hurt  her,  though  he  had  probably  not 
hit  very  wide  of  the  mark. 

"  Do  you  telegraph,  dear  Kortmer,"  said  Antje, 
at  length. 

He  left  the  room  to  write  out  the  despatch.  But 
she  sank  down  into  the  old  arm-chair  in  front  of  the 
writing-table,  and  hid  her  face  in  her  hands.  It  was 
so  frightfully  hard — how  should  she  excuse  his  ab- 
sence to  all  these  people  ?  He  must  not  come,  he 
could  not  !  How  soft  and  peaceful  was  her  grief 
for  the  dead,  in  comparison  with  this  grief  which 
she  was  forced  to  hide  away  from  the  world ! 

A  gentle  knock  at  the  door  startled  her — what 
if  he  had  come  after  all  ?  No,  it  was  only  Hanna, 
the  housekeeper  ;  she  had  a  long  paper  in  her  hand 
on  which  minute  directions  for  the  funeral  were 
marked  down  in  her  mother's  handwriting. 

Antje  now  had  to  go  from  the  attic  to  the  cellar, 
to  unlock  chests  and  cupboards.  Everything  was 
arranged  for  all  that  would  be  necessary  for  the  sad 
ceremony.  Even  the  mourning  aprons  for  the  ser- 
vant-maids, the  crape  bands  which  the  bookkeepers 
were  to  wear  on  their  hats,  were  all  ready ;  "  for  " — 
so  said  the  paper — "  I  know  how  hard  it  is  when 
one  has  these  things  to  look  after  with  a  sad  heart. 
I  found  it  so  when  my  dear  husband  died,  and  I 
wish  to  make  it  easier  for  my  dear  Antje." 

How  touching  is  the  care  and  love  of  a  mother, 
extending  even  beyond  the  grave  ! 


Misjudged.  249 


The  young  wife's  breast  heaved  with  a  sob  as  she 
read  these  words. 

"Ah,  dear  me,  Frau  Jussnitz,"  sighed  the  old 
housekeeper,  "  how  shall  we  ever  get  along  in  this 
house  without  our  Frau  Bergrath  ?  Such  a  woman 
as  your  mother  is  not  to  be  found  twice  in  all  the 
world.  If  you  were  only  going  to  stay  here,  Frau 
Jussnitz  !  " 

Antje  was  silent ;  she  did  not  even  know  whether 
she  might  stay  here  in  the  great,  lonely  house.  She 
had  no  idea  of  what  was  to  become  of  her  ;  she  was 
only  sure  of  one  thing,  that  she  would  be  alone  in 
the  world  wherever  she  was,  she  and  her  child. 

Antje  went  at  length  into  the  great  hall  on  tne 
ground  floor,  in  which  her  mother  was  lying  in  state. 
This  room  had  folding-doors  which  opened  on  the 
garden  terrace,  and  adjoined  the  so-called  visitors' 
room,  which  opened  into  the  Frau  Bergrath 's  sit- 
ting-room, whose  windows  looked  out  on  the  great, 
smoke-blackened  buildings  of  the  iron-works,  and 
the  houses  of  the  workmen.  A  row  of  fine  old  lin- 
dens stood  before  these  windows,  the  embodiment 
of  poetry  in  the  midst  of  the  prose  of  this  world 
of  labor,  of  iron  industry. 

Hanna  was  busy  in  this  room,  arranging  masses 
of  wreaths  at  the  foot  of  the  coffin.  There  was  not 
a  house  in  the  whole  neighborhood  which  had  not 
sent  at  least  a  simple  wreath  of  evergreen,  and  they 
still  kept  coming.  The  coffin  was  surrounded  by 
the  orange-trees  which  had  been  the  dead  woman's 
pride,  and  numberless  white  candles  shone  out  of 
the  dark  green  of  their  leaves. 

Occasionally  one  of  the  workmen's  wives  would 


250  Misjudged. 


come  in  with  soft  and  reverent  tread,  leading  a  child 
with  terrified  eyes  by  the  hand,  to  gaze  once  more 
at  the  dead,  to  sob  in  her  handkerchief,  and  to  press 
Antje's  hand.  She,  in  her  dull  grief,  went  through 
it  all  mechanically. 

"  Cry  a  little,  gracious  lady,"  said  one  withered 
old  woman  to  her.  "  It  will  ease  your  heart ;  a  death 
without  tears,  that  isn't  good." 

She  nodded  to  the  old  woman,  but  she  did  not  in 
the  least  understand  what  she  had  said  to  her.  Then 
she  went  quickly  into  the  visitors'  room. 

"  What  is  this  ? "  she  inquired,  pointing  to  a  table 
covered  with  a  black  cloth,  on  which  were  an  ink- 
stand and  two  silver  candlesticks,  while  a  double 
row  of  chairs  stood  in  front  of  it. 

"  The  Frau  Bergrath  wished  it  to  be  so,"  replied 
Hanna,  who  had  just  been  fastening  black  crape 
bows  over  the  pictures  of  Antje's  parents.  "  Did 
you  not  read  it,  Frau  Jussnitz  ?  The  will  is  to 
be  opened  here  after  the  funeral,  and  on  those 
two  front  chairs  you  and  Herr  Jussnitz  are  to  sit." 

Antje  turned  quickly  away  and  went  back  into 
the  great  hall.  With  clasped  hands  she  went  up 
to  the  coffin. 

"  Thank  God,"  she  murmured,  ^^  you  will  not  see 
me  sitting  there,  so  alone — so  utterly  alone  !  " 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

In  the  mean  time,  Hilda  von  Zweidorf  was  pre- 
siding in  the  nursery.  The  child  had  taken  a  little 
cold  on  the  journey,  and  she  cried  constantly  and 
kept  calling  for  her  mother.  Hilda  knew  that  A.ntje 
had  as  much  as  she  could  do  in  making  all  the  prep- 
arations which  are  necessary  for  such  a  sad  cere- 
mony as  a  funeral.  Therefore  she  did  her  best  to 
pacify  the  child,  to  put  it  to  sleep,  and  to  amuse  it 
when  awake.     But  in  vain. 

Antje  had  come  in  several  times  in  her  sombre 
mourning  garments,  with  her  pale,  haggard  face,  and 
the  child  had  cried  aloud  in  terror  ;  it  was  afraid  of 
the  black  dress. 

At  length,  toward  evening  of  the  second  day, 
Hilda,  quite  exhausted  by  her  unaccustomed  efforts, 
begged  Dr.  Maiberg  to  come  and  see  the  child. 

He  came  into  the  light,  comfortable,  old-fash- 
ioned room.  Hilda  was  sitting  before  the  table, 
with  the  child  on  her  lap,  with  unwearied  patience 
building  up  the  blocks  which  the  perverse  little 
creature  insisted  on  knocking  down  again.  "  Mamma 
come,"  was  its  constant  cry  ;  "  but  not  the  black 
mamma  !  " 

"  Probably  there  may  be  some  childish  disease 
coming  on,"  said  the  doctor,  laying  his  hand  on  the 
hot  little  head.     "  For  the  present  there  is  nothing 


252  Misjudged. 


to  do  but  to  wait  patiently,  Fraulein  von  Zweidorf. 
Shall  I  send  some  one  to  help  you  ?  " 

"  No,  thank  you,"  she  replied,  curtly. 

"  You  seem  to  be  suffering  yourself." 

"  Not  at  all.  But  please  tell  me,  Herr  Doctor — " 
She  stopped  and  blushed.  "  Tell  me,"  she  began 
again,  "  why  does  not  Herr  Jussnitz  come  ?  " 

"  I  should  think  you  ought  to  know  that,"  was 
the  sharp  answer.  But  the  next  moment  he  re- 
pented it.  She  looked  at  him  so  helplessly,  so  pite- 
ously,  and  her  proud  head  drooped  lower  and 
lower  ;  she  looked  utterly  crushed  and  broken.  He 
suddenly  felt  a  horrible  certainty  that  something 
decisive  must  have  occurred  at  Sibyllenburg.  He 
caught  at  her  hand  and  was  about  to  speak. 

"  Don't,"  she  said,  harshly,  getting  up.  Taking 
the  baby  in  her  arms,  which  burst  into  loud  crying 
when  it  saw  itself  deprived  of  its  playthings,  she  be- 
gan to  walk  up  and  down  the  room,  quite  incapable 
of  pacifying  the  child,  unable  to  choke  back  her 
own  sobs. 

He  went  up  to  her  and  relieved  her  of  her  ob- 
streperous little  burden.  And  she  fled  from  the 
room,  down  the  stairs,  through  the  hall. 

She  did  not  see  Antje  standing  there  in  front  of 
the  great  linen-press  with  the  housekeeper.  She 
had  but  one  thought — away,  where  she  could  hide 
her  burning  shame — ^away,  never  to  come  back, 
never  ! 

The  wind  tore  the  heavy  door  out  of  her  hand. 
She  left  it  open  and  rushed  down  the  steps,  and 
then  came  to  a  sudden  stop  and  caught  at  the  iron 
railing  in  her  horror  and  amazement,  for  a  carriage 


Misjudged.  253 


had  just  driven  up,  out  of  which  sprang  a  tall,  slen- 
der man. 

She  felt  as  if  she  would  like  the  earth  to  swallow 
her  up.     It  was  Jussnitz. 

She  saw  Antje  come  forward  to  meet  him  ;  saw 
by  the  light  of  the  lamp  the  young  wife's  eyes  fixed 
reproachfully  on  her,  as  if  to  say  :  "  Could  you  not 
wait  a  little  while  ?  Could  not  even  tlie  presence 
of  the  dead  under  this  roof  restrain  you  from  rush- 
ing out  to  greet  him  .?  " 

Of  course  she  could  not  help  thinking  thus  when 
she  saw  Hilda  dashing  down  the  steps  to  meet  him 
in  all  the  joy  of  seeing  him  again  whom  she  loved  ! 

She  had  on  neither  cloak  nor  hat ;  she  could 
not  say :  "  I  wanted  the  fresh  air ;  I  felt  as  if  I 
should  choke  in  that  room  upstairs  !  " 

She  only  stood  there,  trembling  like  a  guilty  thing. 

"  Will  you  not  come  in,  Hilda  ?  You  will  take 
cold  in  that  sharp  wind,"  said  Antje's  voice,  ivith 
perfect  calmness. 

And  she  obeyed. 

Jussnitz  was  standing  in  the  hall  with  Kortner, 
Hilda  went  past  him  toward  the  staircase  with  her 
head  thrown  proudly  back. 

Leo  bowed  civilly  and  formally  to  the  young 
girl,  but  she  did  not  return  his  greeting :  she  weni 
upstairs  step  by  step,  and  walked  slowly  along 
the  corridor.  When  she  reached  the  nursery,  she 
said  to  Dr.  Maiberg,  whom  she  found  sitting  pa- 
tiently by  the  baby's  bed  :  "  Go,  I  beg  of  you ; 
I  wish  to  be  alone." 

"  And  what  if  I  will  not  go  and  leave  you  ill 
this  excited  state  ?  ** 


254  Misjudged. 


"You  will — Jussr.itz  is  just  arrived." 

He  looked  at  her  almost  with  compassion. 

"  You  should  not  excite  yourself  so,  Fraulein 
Hilda,"  he  said,  as  he  went  gloomily  out. 

The  door  was  locked  behind  him.  Then  he 
heard  weeping,  bitter  weeping,  which  was  evidently 
suppressed  as  much  as  possible,  and  yet  passed 
all  bounds.  And  amidst  these  sobs,  in  which  the 
terrified  child  joined,  came  an  ardent  prayer  from 
her  lips :  "  Oh,  grant  that  they  may  be  reconciled 
in  the  presence  of  the  dead  !  Let  the  print  of 
my  footsteps  be  washed  away  from  the  life-path 
of  these  two,  I  pray  thee,  O  God !  Hear  my 
prayer,  or  let  me  die  I  " 

Maiberg,  standing  outside,  caught  only  a  few 
words  here  and  there.  Shaking  his  head,  he  went 
down  the  stairs.  He  found  Jussnitz  alone  in  the 
sitting-room ;  the  housekeeper,  with  one  of  the 
maids,  was  setting  the  table  for  tea  in  the  adjoin- 
ing dining-room. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Leo  ?  "  said  Maiberg, 

Jussnitz  started  up  out  of  his  chair  ;  his  eyes 
opened  wide,  but  he  could  not  utter  a  word.  His 
friend  stood  before  him  without  speaking. 

"  How  came  you  here  ?  "  asked  Jussnitz, 
hoarsely. 

"  By  your  wife's  wish." 

He  gave  a  short  laugh.  "  To  be  sure,  I  might 
have  known  that." 

"  Of  course  you  might,  Leo.** 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure  ;  but  sometimes  one — does  not 
see  what  is  before  one's  very  eyes,"  remarked  Leo^ 
with  peculiar  emphasis. 


Misjudged.  255 


A  fleeting  smile  passed  over  Maiberg's  counte- 
nance, and  his  face  suddenly  brightened. 

Then  the  two  old  ladies  came  in,  the  sisters  of 
the  Bergrath ;  the  housekeeper  followed,  and  invited 
the  two  gentlemen  into  the  dining-room.  Frau 
Jussnitz  begged  to  be  excused  for  not  appearing 
at  the  table  ;  she  had  still  a  great  deal  to  do. 

Her  excuse  was  readily  accepted,  and  only  old 
Kortmer  knew  that  she  was  sitting  idle  in  her  old, 
girlish  room.  But  even  the  old  gentleman  had  no 
idea  how  great  her  trouble  was.  She  walked  up 
and  down  incessantly,  like  a  person  who  is  a  prey 
to  the  most  utter  despair. 

A  single  light  was  buniing  in  the  room,  just  re- 
vealing the  furniture,  the  old-fashioned  hangings, 
and  the  low  panelled  ceiling.  The  airy  white  bed 
in  which  she  had  dreamed  her  youthful  dreams 
rose  half-ghostlike  from  the  dusky  comer. 

Antje  had  once  heard  of  the  "second  sight," 
and  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  a  fair  head  were  lying 
on  the  pillow  there,  as  if  two  hands  were  clasped 
in  bitter  grief.  What  have  you  come  to,  Anna  Frey  ? 

She  ran  to  the  door ;  she  would  go  and  get  her 
child,  the  only  thing  she  possessed  in  the  whole 
wide  world.  How  could  she  have  allowed  that 
other  to  care  for  it  only  for  a  minute  even  ?  But 
her  hand  dropped  from  the  knob — she  would  not 
meet  him  there  ;  she  could  not  have  borne  the  sight 
of  those  two  together — by  Leonie's  bed. 

Good  God,  he  had  only  come  because  Hilda  wag 
here !  Again  she  saw  in  spirit  that  light  figure  go- 
ing down  the  stairs,  flying  through  the  hall — to  mee* 
him  ;  and  she  forced  herself  to  stay  away  from  th* 


3s6  Misjudged, 


little  one  ;  for  the  first  time  she  went  to  bed  without 
kissing  her  good-night !  She  took  refuge  on  the  sota 
and  hid  her  head  in  the  cushion,  so  she  need  not 
hear  his  step  pass  on  his  way  to  the  nursery.  At 
this  moment  she  was  only  the  passionately  loving 
wife,  who  fears  to  receive  the  last  decisive  proof 
that  her  husband  is  lost  to  her. 

At  length  she  started  up  and  listened  with  gasp- 
ing breath  and  her  hands  on  her  throbbing  temples. 
There  were  voices  outside,  Leo's  and  Maiberg's. 
Antje  could  hear  them  saying  good-night.  Hanna's 
voice,  too,  came  to  her  ears  : 

"  Herr  Jussnitz,"  she  said,  *'  I  have  given  you 
your  old  room,  if  you  have  no  objection.  The 
gracious  Frau  thought " 

She  could  not  hear  his  reply ;  he  had  walked  rap- 
idly away. 

Antje  drew  a  long  breath  and  then  burst  into  a 
flood  of  tears.  Good  Heavens,  what  would  she  have  ? 
She  had  been  on  the  point  of  forgetting  that  he  had 
called  her  a  drag  on  him,  that  she  must  give  him 
his  freedom. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

The  funeral  was  over. 

From  the  house  itself,  across  the  great  square 
covered  with  black  sand,  bordered  on  one  side  by 
the  houses  of  the  work-people,  on  the  other  by  the 
buildings  of  the  iron-works,  the  path  the  procession 
had  to  take  had  been  thickly  strewn  with  white  sand 
and  evergreen  boughs.  This  path  wound  along  the 
rushing  stream  which  usually  drove  the  great  ham- 
mers now  resting  in  solemn  stillness,  down  through 
the  village  to  the  little  church-yard. 

In  front  of  the  "  Pine-tree  Inn "  in  Oberrode 
stood  a  crowd  of  carriages  ;  in  the  great  inn  parlor 
sat  all  the  people  who  had  come  to  pay  their  last  hom- 
age to  the  greatly  honored  woman,  but  who  were  not 
sufficiently  familiar  friends  to  count  on  the  hospital- 
ity of  the  great  house  to-day.  There  were  foresters, 
manufacturers  and  mine-owners,  landed  proprietors 
and  business  friends.  The  hospitable  parsonage 
was  also  thrown  open  to  the  funeral  guests.  Every 
one  knew  that  after  the  funeral  the  will  was  to  be 
read,  and  every  one  was  curious  to  hear  its  con- 
tents, and  who  was  to  be  the  owner  of  this  great 
property. 

At  the  "  Pine-tree  Inn  "  the  conversation  was  very 
animated.  One  man  declar«d  that  **  Gottessegen  " 
would  now  be  given  over  to  a  stock  company,  and 


258  Misjudged. 


the  son-in-law  would  probably  be  one  of  the  chief 
stockholders. 

A  second  declared  that  the  Frau  Bergrath  had 
never  approved  of  stock  companies. 

A  third  asserted  most  emphatically  that  the 
daughter  would  receive  a  considerable  sum,  and 
that  Ferdinand  Frey  would  have  the  iron-works,  of 
course  to  be  held  in  trust  for  the  Jussnitzes. 

"  Who  is  Ferdinand  Frey  ?  " 

"Why,  the  Frey  who  is  in  the  mining  office  in 
N .     You  know  Frey  ?  " 

*'  Oh,  yes ;  of  course." 

"  But  that  would  be  unjust  to  the  daughter.'* 

"  Good  Heavens  !  she  will  have  enough." 

"  Nay,  nay !  The  Herr  Son-in-law  will  soon  have 
to  sing  small,  and  the  old  Frau  Bergrath  knew  that 
very  well — she  could  hear  the  grass  grow.  Upon 
my  word,  she  was  a  resolute  woman.  Take  my 
word  for  it,  she  has  thought  out  something  quite 
out  of  the  common." 

In  the  house  of  mourning  there  were  only  the  few 
people  who  were  to  be  present  at  the  reading  of  the 
will  of  the  "  resolute  woman."  Through  the  windows 
of  the  room  they  could  look  out  on  a  dull,  rainy 
afternoon ;  there  was  a  stupefying  odor  of  cypress, 
juniper,  and  tuberoses.  People  stood  about,  talking 
in  whispers, — the  cousin,  Ferdinand  Frey,  a  young 
man  with  a  dark,  attractive  face  ;  the  old  sisters, 
who  held  each  other's  hands,  anxiously  waiting  to 
hear  whether  their  future  fate  was  to  be  endurable 
or  not ;  the  pastor,  the  notary,  Herr  Kortmer,  and 
— Jussnitz. 

Antie  had  not  come  yet ;  they  were  all  waiting 


Misjudged.  259 


for  her.  At  last  she  appeared,  pale,  with  her  hair 
brushed  plainly  back,  her  gloomy  mourning  robes, 
and  her  eyes  almost  extinguished  in  her  grief. 

The  old  lawyer  went  up  to  her  and  led  her  to  her 
seat,  into  which  she  sank  at  once.  With  her  eyes 
cast  down,  her  hands  folded  in  her  lap,  she  sat 
there,  with  Leo  beside  her,  and  behind  her  chair 
Ferdinand  Frey,  whom  her  parents  had  once  des- 
tined for  her  husband. 

The  old  lawyer  of  the  Frey  family  prefaced  the 
reading  of  the  will  with  a  few  agitated  words,  ad- 
dressed chiefly  to  Antje.  He  said  how  sad  it  was 
for  him  to  be  obliged  to  fulfil  so  soon  his  hard 
duty,  the  duty  of  speaking  to  the  orphan  in  the 
name  of  the  deceased.  Then  he  opened  the  im- 
portant document,  after  he  had  called  those  pres- 
ent to  bear  witness  to  the  fact  that  the  legal  seal 
was  intact,  and  began  : 

"In  the  name  of  God. 

"  Since  I  have  become  convinced  myself,  and  my  phy- 
sician has  assured  me,  that  I  have  not  much  longer  to  live,  I 
have  determined  to  draw  up  my  last  will  and  testament.  I 
have  settled  upon  my  disposition  of  my  property  after  grave 
consideration,  and  in  full  agreement  with  the  views  of  my 
late  husband,  often  expressed  to  me,  as  to  what  would  be  for 
the  best  good  of  our  daughter.  By  the  will  of  my  dear  hus- 
band I  have  been  made  his  sole  heir,  with  power  from  him  to 
dispose  of  the  entire  property  according  to  my  good  will  and 
pleasure.  He  knew  that  he  could  trust  me  entirely,  and  this 
confidence  has  given  me  more  happiness  than  all  the  worldlj^ 
goods  which  he  bequeathed  to  me. 

*'  Therefore,  I  designate  our  only  child,  Anna  Clara  Juss- 
nitz,  born  Frey,  as  the  heiress  of  all  our  worldly  goods,  but 
especially  of  the  iron-works  '  Gottessegen,'  established  by  my 
late  father-in-law,  Christopher  Gottlob    Frey ;  with  the  ex- 


?6o  Misjudged. 


ception  of  a  capital  of  sixty  thousand  marks,  which  is  to  go  to 

our  nephew,  Ferdinand  Frey,  of  N ,  whom  we  have  always 

loved  as  a  son. 

"  My  daughter,  Anna  Clara  Jussnitz,  will  enter  upon  this 
inheritance  on  the  following  conditions  : 

"(i)  She  will  be  obliged  to  take  up  her  residence  at  the 
iron- works  'Gottessegen.' 

"(2)  She  is  to  undertake  the  conduct  of  the  business. 
Without  her  consent  and  signature,  no  changes  shall  be  made 
in  the  management  of  affairs,  no  important  contract  shall  be 
undertaken,  nor  any  officials  be  engaged  or  discharged.  She 
is  to  be  at  the  head  of  the  business,  as  her  father  and  I  have 
been  ;  but  I  charge  Herr  Friedrich  Kortmer,  who  has  for 
years  been  the  superintendent  of  the  works,  to  stand  at  her 
side  as  counsellor  and  adviser. 

"  It  may  seem  strange  to  many  that  I  should  make  this 
disposition  of  my  property.  I  have  done  it  for  two  reasons — 
one  of  these  is  known  to  my  daughter  and  to  my  son-in-law, 
and  I  will  spare  them  further  comments  in  this  place.  For 
the  second  reason,  I  would  say  to  those  who  doubt  a  woman's 
capability  for  conducting  a  business  like  this,  that  I,  who  am 
not  a  blindly  impartial  mother,  am  convinced  that  my 
daughter,  Anna  Jussnitz,  possesses  the  qualities  requisite  for 
>•*♦»  head  of  this  great  establishment. 

(3)  My  daughter,  Anna  Clara  Jussnitz,  is  required  to  invest 
annually  one-fourth  of  the  income  from  the  business  in  lands, 
woodlands,  or  houses,  as  a  capital  for  her  heirs,  and  also  to  de- 
vote annually  a  certain  sum  to  the  improvement  and  enlarge- 
ment of  the  business  so  that  it  may  never  decrease  or  diminish. 
Furthermore,  I  enjoin  upon  my  daughter,  within  the  next 
four  years,  to  build  a  hospital,  to  enlarge  the  schools,  and  to 
appoint  a  physician  for  the  workmen  of  the  iron-works.  I 
charge  her  also  to  provide  for  him  a  suitable  dwelling.  More- 
over, I  desire  that  she  should  complete  the  Home  for  Aged 
Work-people,  and  see  that  it  is  provided  with  all  proper 
sanitary  arrangements.  I  have  the  fullest  confidence  that 
my  daughter  will  carry  out  this,  my  last  will,  which  is  also 
that  of  her  father,  and  will  not  be  turned  from  her  duty  by 
any  wishes  to  the  contrary  from  any  quarter  whatever. 


Misjudged.  361 


"  (4)  But  in  case  my  daughter  will  not  or  cannot  comply 
with  these  conditions,  in  accordance  with  my  husband's  ex* 
pressed  wishes,  I  appoint  in  her  place  her  daughter,  Leonie 
Jussnitz,  now  aged  three  years ;  or  in  case  my  daughter, 
Anna  Clara  Jussnitz,  should  have  more  children,  I  make 
these  children  my  heirs,  on  condition  that,  should  they  be  all 
girls,  my  eldest  grandchild,  Leonie  Jussnitz,  should  be  the 
sole  possessor  of  the  iron-works  ;  but  in  case  there  should  be 
sons,  the  eldest  son  is  to  take  the  business.  The  heir,  who- 
ever he  may  be,  is  to  pay  to  his  brothers  and  sisters  their 
share  of  the  value  of  the  business,  according  to  official  ap- 
praisal, but  these  shares  are  to  remain  in  the  business  at  four 
per  cent,  interest. 

"  As  head  of  the  business  until  the  majority  of  the  eventual 
owner,  in  case  my  daughter  does  not  accept  the  conditions 
I  to  3, 1  appoint  my  nephew,  Herr  Ferdinand  Frey,  engineer. 
I  charge  him  to  pay  to  my  daughter  eighteen  thousand  marks 
annually,  for  the  necessary  expenses  of  her  household,  to  be 
paid  quarterly.  He  himself,  Herr  Ferdinand  Frey,  will  receive 
a  salary  of  nine  thousand  marks.  He  will  be  bound  to  under- 
take  and  fulfil  all  the  conditions  I  have  imposed  upon  my 
daughter  in  case  she  had  become  my  heir.  He  will  invest  all 
the  surplus  income  for  the  benefit  of  my  grandchild,  Leonie 
Jussnitz,  or  of  any  other  grandchildren  that  may  hereafter  be 
bom,  in  good  bonds  or  real  estate  ;  he  is  enjoined  to  refuse 
most  decidedly  any  further  demands  of  my  daughter,  or  her 
husband,  beyond  the  said  sum  of  eighteen  thousand  marks 
annually. 

"  When  the  one  of  my  grandchildren  to  whom  the  business 
may  eventually  come  attains  his  majority,  the  business  shall 
be  made  over  to  him  entirely,  and  this  will  shall  become  null 
and  void.  In  case  it  is  his  desire  to  conduct  the  business 
himself,  he  shall  pay  to  the  former  administrator,  Herr  Fer- 
dinand Frey,  a  life  pension  of  forty- five  hundred  marks 
annually. 

"  (5)  I  appoint  my  lawyer,  Herr  Councillor  Klein,  my  ex- 
ecutor, and  charge  him  to  see  that  all  these  conditions  are 
faithfully  carried  out,  and  to  advise  and  counsel  my  daughter 
not  to  shrink  from  the  hard  duties  which  I  have  laid  upon  heri 


262  Misjudged. 


and  not  to  be  deterred  from  obeying  the  last  will  of  her  par- 
ents by  any  obstacles  laid  in  her  way  by  any  person  what- 
soever. 

''  I  especially  charge  my  executor  to  see  that  my  daughter 
alone  shall  have  the  disposal  of  her  inheritance  and  her  income, 
as  I  absolutely  refuse  to  give  to  her  husband  any  right  whatso- 
ever over  the  principal  or  interest  of  my  property. 

"  This  is  to  take  effect  also  in  case  my  daughter's  children 
and  not  herself  should  be  my  heirs. 

"(6)  I  furthermore  charge  my  heirs  and  my  executor  to 
see  that  all  those  legacies  which  I  have  left  for  the  benefit  of 
private  persons,  and  for  churches,  schools,  and  charitable  in- 
stitutions, and  which  I  have  written  out  on  a  separate  paper 
over  my  signature,  shall  be  punctually  paid. 

'  •  (7)  The  foregoing  is  my  last  will  and  testament,  which  I 
have  written  down  with  my  own  hand,  and  signed  and  sealed 
with  my  own  seal. 

"  I  pray  God  that  all  may  have  been  done  for  the  best. 

May  He  grant  that  I  have  chosen  the  right. 

"  Clara  Frey,  bom  Hansen. 

"  Iron  Works,  '  Gottbssegen,' 
"March  a8,  18-." 

There  was  a  death-like  silence  in  the  great  room 
when  the  reading  was  finished.  Jussnitz  had  sat 
during  the  whole  time  with  his  arms  folded,  gazing 
out  of  the  window  as  if  he  were  counting  the  rain- 
drops which  were  running  down  the  panes.  By  his 
appearance  it  might  have  been  supposed  that  he 
had  not  heard  a  word  of  what  had  been  just  uttered 
so  loudly  and  distinctly. 

Antje  sat  looking  at  her  hands  lying  clasped  in 
her  lap,  a  prey  to  the  deepest  inward  torture.  Fer- 
dinand Frey  did  not  remove  his  eyes  from  her  face. 
His  countenance  had  gradually  taken  on  an  expres- 
sion of  anger  and  compassion,  such  as  men  wear 
who  see  an  animal  tortured  without  being  able  to 


Misjudged.  *63 


succor  it.  He  had  formerly  been  greatly  attached 
to  his  cousin,  and  was  even  now  devoted  to  her  ser- 
vice, and  what  did  he  care  for  all  the  rest  ?  He 
was  poor  enough,  but  what  good  would  all  this  con- 
fidence do  him,  and  the  good  income,  and  the  new 
position  ?  He  knew  that  he  would  never  be  happy 
within  these  walls,  for  old  memories  would  cry  out 
at  him  from  every  corner. 

"  Of  course  you  are  allowed  several  weeks  for 
consideration,  Frau  Jussnitz,"  began  Councillor 
Klein,  after  a  short  pause.  "  In  the  meantime  every- 
thing is  in  the  best  hands." 

Antje  rose  and  went  over  to  the  table  on  which 
the  will  was  lying. 

"  I  require  no  time  for  consideration,  Herr  Coun- 
cillor," she  said  in  a  clear,  distinct  voice,  laying  both 
her  slender  hands  on  the  black  table-cover.  "  I 
hereby  declare  that  I  will  accept  the  inheritance 
with  all  the  conditions  my  mother  has  imposed.  I 
will  from  henceforth  take  up  my  abode  here,  and 
will  endeavor  to  do  my  duty  as  manager  of  this 
business  as  faithfully  as  possible.  I  think  in  this  I 
am  acting  in  accordance  with  Hen*  Jussnitz'  wishes 
also." 

Again  there  was  a  pause. 

*'  Six  weeks,"  said  the  old  family  lawyer — "  six 
weeks  for  consideration,  Frau  Jussnitz  !  " 

*'  I  am  fully  determined  to  conscientiously  fulfil 
the  conditions  which  my  mother  has  imposed,"  she 
repeated  calmly,  but  very  decidedly,  "  and  1  wish 
to  be  the  owner  of  *  Gottessegen.'  Please  draw  up 
the  necessary  papers  at  once." 

And   turning   to  those  present,  she  added  in  a 


264  Misjudged. 


voice  choked  by  tears  :  "  I  am  sure  you  will  all  have 
patience  with  me  at  first,  as  I  am  utterly  inexperi- 
enced, and  I  take  my  mother's  place  with  only  an 
honest  desire  to  do  all  I  can  to  fill  it." 

And  she  went  up  to  her  cousin  and  held  out  her 
hand.  "  Ferdinand,  I  know  you  understand  me  !  " 
Then  she  pressed  Herr  Kortmer's  hand.  "  You 
will  help  me,  will  you  not  ?  " 

She  offered  her  forehead  to  the  pastor  to  kiss. 
"  And  you,  too,  will  help  me,  Herr  Pastor,  will  you 
not  ?  " 

Then,  as  if  overpowered  by  her  emotions,  she 
walked  past  her  husband  and  left  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XXL 

For  the  moment  she  could  think  of  no  bettel 
refuge  than  her  parents'  little  study ;  there  she 
would  be  sure  of  being  undisturbed.  With  regard 
to  all  that  had  to  be  done  in  the  near  future,  she 
only  felt  that  one  thing  was  clear — Leo  must  not 
stay  here  !  To  treat  with  him  face  to  face  was  more 
than  she  felt  able  to  do,  and  yet  she  felt  that  it  would 
be  indelicate  to  request  him  through  the  lawyer  to 
spare  her  the  pain  of  seeing  him.  She  tried  to  write 
to  him,  but  she  could  not  find  suitable  words.  How 
ought  one  to  write  to  a  husband  from  whom  one  is 
on  the  point  of  separating  ?  She  laid  down  her  pen 
again  and  looked  out  over  the  open  common  that 
lay  there  in  its  Sabbath  repose.  Ah,  if  there  were 
only  one  human  heart  that  she  could  confide  in, 
that  would  do  her  the  friendly  service  of  being  the 
messenger  between  herself  and  him,  of  telling  him 
that  she  was  determined,  irrevocably  determined  to 
free  him  from  the  fetters  that  had  so  weighed  him 
down — only  one,  only  one  human  heart ! 

She  suddenly  started  up  and  opened  the  window. 

Dr.  Maiberg  was  just  coming  out  of  one  of  the 
workmen's  houses.  She  did  not  call  him.  She 
only  looked  at  him,  but  he  read  the  entreaty  in  her 
sad  eyes,  and  came  up  to  the  window. 

"  Do  you  want  anything,  Frau  Jussnitz  ?  " 


a66  Misjudged. 


"  If  you  can  spare  me  a  few  moments,  Hert 
Doctor." 

"  I  am  quite  at  your  service." 

In  a  few  moments  he  entered  the  room.  It  was 
always  rather  dark  there  ;  the  only  window  was  in 
a  deep  niche  formed  by  the  thick  walls,  and  there 
was  an  iron  grating  outside  it.  In  the  corner  there 
was  a  small  American  stove.  Antje  stood  at  the 
writing-table  in  her  sombre  mourning  dress,  with  a 
pale,  determined  face. 

"  May  I  ask  you  to  do  me  a  favor  ? "  she  in- 
quired. 

He  bowed  assent. 

"You  have  heard  perhaps  already  from  Leo 
that " 

She  turned  away  her  face  ;  it  was  so  horribly  hard 
to  say  the  words.  She  could  not  bring  herself  to 
do  it.  "  Has  he  not  said  anything  to  you,  Herr 
Doctor  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  the  slightest  idea  what  you  mean,"  he 
replied,  looking  wonderingly  at  her  trembling  figure. 

"  Leo  and  I  have  decided  to  separate,"  she  hur- 
riedly gasped  out. 

"  That  is  impossible,  Frau  Jussnitz,"  he  said,  very 
quietly. 

"  No.  It  is  true.  I  see  now  that  the  wife  of  an 
artist  should  be  quite  a  different  person  from  such 
as  I  am ;  not  so  prosaic,  so  horribly  insignificant. 
Maiberg,  I  know  that  Leo  suffers  from  these  qualities 
of  mine.  I  know  it  from  his  own  lips — he  does  not 
love  me.  It  is  frightful,  this  certainty,  but  easier  to 
bear  than  my  life  has  been  for  some  time  past. 
Maiberg,  do  not  say  anything,  I  entreat  you  ;  do 


Misjudged.  267 


not  try  to  persuade  me  that  there  is  a  misunder- 
standing," she  continued.  "  Do  not  drag  me  back 
into  the  struggle,  from  which  I  have  barely  come  off 
conqueror.  All  I  ask  of  you — you  are  Leo's  friend 
' — is  to  beg  him  in  my  name  to  go  away  this  very 
evening.  I  cannot  bear  to  have  him  here  any 
longer  ;  it  is  impossible  under  the  circumstances. 
Tell  him  that  his  *  fetters  '  have  fallen  off  ;  tell  him 
that  he  shall  be  legally  free  as  soon  as  the  first 
months  of  deep  mourning  for  mamma  have  passed. 
I  owe  it  to  her — and  he  does,  too — not  to  desecrate 
that  sacred  period  with  a  divorce  suit." 

"  I  was  not  prepared  for  this,"  replied  Maiberg, 
gloomily. 

"  But  I  can  not  do  otherwise.  I  can  not !  "  she 
cried. 

"  And  what  will  become  of  Leo  when  you  forsake 
him  ?  " 

"  He  will  be  a  happier  man  than  he  has  been 
hitherto  ;  he  will  be  a  great  artist,  Herr  Doctor." 

"  Frau  Jussnitz,"  he  said,  "  you  are  over-excited, 
your  nerves  are  overstrained.  Calm  yourself,  and  I 
w^ill  send  Leo  away.  Do  you  stay  here  till  you 
recover  yourself.  Take  courage,  and  one  day  you 
will  be  able  to  banish  these  gloomy  thoughts  and 
take  up  again  with  renewed  courage  the  by  no  means 
easy  duty  of  being  Leo's  wife.     But " 

An  indescribably  sad  smile  parted  her  lips. 

"  Never  !  "  she  said  in  aloud,  clear  voice.  "  I  shall 
stay  here.  I  must  stay  here — his  path  and  mine  are 
separated  forever.  But  I  wish  you  would  say  to 
him,  Herr  Doctor,  that  ever  since  I  have  known  him 
i  have  thought  only  of  his  happiness.     But  no — " 


268  Misjudged. 


she  interrupted  herself — "  do  not  tell  him  that 
Why  should  you  ?  " 

"  God  knows  whether  you  are  doing  right  !  " 
returned  Maiberg. 

"  Go,"  she  entreated,  "  go  !  If  he  wishes  to  take 
the  evening  train,  he  must  start  soon."  i 

She  sank  down,  as  if  her  strength  had  suddenly 
failed  her,  into  the  chair  in  front  of  the  writing- 
table. 

The  young  doctor  left  the  room  with  a  long,  ear- 
nest look  at  her.  He  had  an  inward  conviction  that 
all  was  over  between  these  two ;  that  this  usually 
patient,  long-suffering  woman  could  not  act  other- 
wise. But,  for  Heaven's  sake,  what  had  happened  ? 
Hilda's  image  rose  before  him  for  a  moment,  but  he 
indignantly  rejected  the  idea  that  she  was  in  any 
way  connected  with  this  breach.  She  was  a  foolish, 
coquettish,  passionate,  spoiled  child,  but 

"Where  is  Herr  Jussnitz  ?"  he  inquired  of  a 
housemaid  who  was  crossing  the  hall  with  a  tray 
of  wine-glasses. 

"  Herr  Jussnitz  went  to  his  room  after  the  will 
was  read,  and  I  have  not  seen  him  since." 

Maiberg  looked  for  him  there,  but  without  suc- 
cess. Leo's  elegant  toilet  articles  were  scattered 
about,  as  usual,  in  artistic  disorder.  Among  them 
was  a  sketch-book,  and  in  the  corner  by  the  stove 
was  a  camp-chair  and  an  artist's  umbrella.  His 
trunk,  whicK  stood  there  with  its  lid  thrown  back, 
was  quite  large,  as  if  its  owner  had  intended  to  make 
a  prolonged  stay.  Maiberg  knew,  however,  that  Leo, 
since  his  marriage,  would  have  considered  it  impos- 
sible to  make  a  journey  in  search  of  artistic  studies 


Misjudged.  269 


with  a  knapsack  on  his  back.  He  had  grown  far  too 
aristocratic  and  self-indulgent  for  that.  But  in  spite 
of  this  the  presence  of  these  objects  gave  Maiberg 
a  feeling  of  comfort.  He^  at  least,  did  not  seem  to 
be  inexorable.  Or  had  he  no  suspicion  that  this 
"  utter  nonentity  "  of  a  wife  did,  after  all,  possess  a 
heart,  and  with  this  heart — force  of  character  and  a 
strong  will,  and  true  womanly  pride  ? 

Maiberg  looked  for  his  friend  through  all  the 
rooms,  then  in  the  garden,  and  at  length  he  came 
back  to  the  house.  In  the  sitting-room  the  com- 
pany of  mourners  were  partaking  of  a  simple  evening 
meal.  The  two  old  aunts  had  red  eyes  in  spite  of 
their  joy  over  the  nice  little  legacy  which  would 
make  it  possible  for  them  to  pay  the  dog-tax  for 
their  beloved  Moppel  without  anxious  calculations 
and  without  feeling  guilty  of  too  great  an  extrava- 
gance. They  were  holding  each  other's  hands  and 
praising  the  dead  woman  in  every  possible  way.  But 
no  one  here  had  seen  Jussnitz. 

Maiberg  even  looked  into  the  counting-room,  but 
there  stood  Herr  Kortmer  at  his  desk,  writing,  still 
in  his  suit  of  solemn  black.  When  he  heard  a  sound 
behind  him,  he  turned  round,  and,  perceiving  the 
young  doctor,  he  said,  in  some  confusion :  "  I  was 
only  writing  out  the  advertisement  of  the  change 
of  firm,  Herr  Doctor.  It  must  be  printed  at 
once." 

"  What  ?  "  said  Maiberg.  "  Have  the  iron-works 
changed  hands  ?  " 

A  smile  like  sunshine  amidst  dark  clouds  passed 
over  the  old  man's  face. 

"  Henceforth  we  shall  sigm :  *  Christonher  finttlnh 


270  Misjudged, 


Frey's  Successor.'  Well,  and  who  do  you  think  is 
the  successor,  Herr  Doctor  ?  It  is  our  child  !  If 
you  had  only  seen  her  as  she  stood  up  before  the 
lawyer  and  said,  quite  simply  and  decidedly :  *  I  shall 
remain  here  ! '  Ah,  she  has  a  mind  of  her  own,  and 
independence.  She  is  a  real  Frey,  and  I  can  assure 
you  that  is  a  good  thing  for  the  business." 

"  Indeed  ?   Then  Frau  Antje  is  to  be  the  chief  ?  " 

"  Frau  Antje  is  chief." 

"  Can  you  not  tell  me  where  I  can  find  Jussnitz  ?  " 
inquired  Maiberg. 

**  Herr  Jussnitz  ?  H'm  !  He  didn't  hear  much 
in  the  will  that  was  satisfactory  to  him.  Well,  he 
couldn't  expect  anything  better,  Herr  Doctor,  for 
my  late  mistress  couldn't  bear  to  die,  she  was  so 
anxious  on  his  account.  But  you  want  to  know 
where  he  is  ?  Dear  me,  where  should  a  man  like 
him  be  ?  He  has  gone  to  walk,  probably,  studying 
lights  and  moods  and  what  not  in  the  woods  along 
the  river.  I  don't  know,  but  I  suppose  that  is  where 
he  is."  And  he  went  back  to  his  advertisement. 
*  In  future  we  shall  sign :  *  Christopher  Gottlob 
'Frey's  Successor.' " 

Maiberg  nodded  to  the  old  man.  It  had  suddenly 
occurred  to  him  that  Jussnitz  might  be  in  the  nur- 
sery. Running  up  two  steps  at  a  time,  he  mounted 
the  stairs  and  was  presently  knocking  at  the  door  of 
the  room  he  knew  was  assigned  to  Hilda  and  the 
child.  1 

"  Come  in  !  "  was  called  out  in  a  low  tone,  and  lie 
opened  the  door.  It  was  almost  dark  in  the  room, 
or  at  least  it  seemed  so  to  him  as  he  came  in  from 
the  light  halL 


Misjudged.  27 1 


"  Are  you  here,  Fraulein  von  Zweidorf  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  came  the  reply  from  a  comer  of  the  sofa  ; 
"  please  walk  softly,  the  baby  is  asleep." 

"  And  what  are  you  doing  here  in  the  dark  ?  ** 

**  I  am  worrying  myself.     I  want  to  go  away.** 

*'  Where  ?  " 

"  Anywhere,  to  get  away  from  here." 

**  But  no  one  keeps  you  here,"  he  said. 

"  No,  but  I  cannot  do  what  I  like.  Please  ask 
Frau  Jussnitz  to  let  me  go." 

"  Anywhere  ?  "  he  repeated  gently.  It  had  such 
a  sad  sound.  "  Do  you  know,"  he  continued,  obey- 
ing a  sudden  impulse,  "  that  Frau  Jussnitz  is  going 
to  stay  here  forever  ?  " 

"  Forever  ? "  she  repeated  incredulously.  "  And 
what  does  he  say  to  that  ?  " 

"He?"  . 

"Yes— he!" 

"  He  is  not  going  to  stay  here.** 

Maiberg  heard  suddenly  a  gasping,  deep-drawn 
breath. 

"  And  where  is  he  going  to  stay  ?  "  she  asked  in 
a  hoarse  tone. 

"  Anywhere  !  "  he  replied. 

She  started  up  from  the  sofa,  and  as  she  bent  to- 
ward him,  in  spite  of  the  darkness,  he  could  see  the 
young  girl's  unnaturally  large,  anxious  eyes.  "  What 
do  you  mean  by  that  ?  "  she  gasped  out,  clutching 
at  his  arm  with  her  trembling  hand. 

"  It  means  that  two  persons  are  about  to  separate 
for  all  eternity." 

She  sank  back  with  a  low,  wailing  cry. 

"And  on  my  account,  on  my  account !  '* 


?72  Misjudged. 


Maiberg  stood  gazing  at  her  without  moving.  So 
it  was  really  so  !  Convulsive  sobs  shook  the  girl's 
whole  frame  ;  she  cried  as  only  a  child  can  cry,  in 
a  heart-breaking,  piteous  fashion, — a  child  who  has 
been  too  severely  punished,  and  whose  self-respect 
has  been  deeply  injured.  And,  all  at  once,  the 
slender  young  figure  sank  on  her  knees  before  the 
young  man,  two  hot  feverish  hands  clasped  his,  and 
in  the  midst  of  her  sobs  she  gasped  out  the  words  : 
*'  Oh,  I  did  not  realize  what  I  was  doing.  I  only 
meant — oh,  don't  think  so  badly  of  me — I — O  God, 
I  cannot  say  it — oh,  do  beg  Frau  Jussnitz  to 
listen  to  me — I  swear  to  you  I " 

The  rest  was  choked  by  her  sobs. 

He  held  the  trembling  little  hands  firmly  in  his 
own  ;  her  wet  cheek  rested  on  his  right  hand,  and 
he  had  not  the  heart  to  thrust  it  away. 

"  Hilda,  you  love  him,  do  you  not  ?  " 

"  Yes — I  did  love  him  at  that  time  when  he  was 
painting  me  in  his  city  studio,  before  I  knew  he  was 
married.  It  was  so  sweet — ah,  and  I  was  so  un- 
happy when  I  found  out " 

"And  now?" 

She  made  no  reply ;  she  only  shook  her  head 
violently. 

"  You  were  playing  with  him,  Fraulein  Hilda  ;  I 
saw  it  with  my  own  eyes." 

There  was  silence  for  a  while.  "  Yes,"  she  said 
then. 

"  You  wished  to  make  it  plain  that — but  you  did 
not  realize  what  you  were  doing,  did  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  did  !  "  was  the  answer,  scarcely  above  her 
breath. 


Misjudged.  273 


"  For  Heaven's  sake  !  But  were  you  not  sorry  for 
his  wife  ? " 

"No,"  she  replied.  "I  thought  it  was  true 
what  they  all  said,  that  she  had  no  ideas  beyond  her 
housekeeping.  She  was  always  so  different  from 
the  others.  Oh,  I  would  give  my  life  if  I  had 
never  seen  him. "     And  she  began  to  sob  again. 

Maiberg  felt  strangely  moved.  He  could  not 
help  recalling  the  wistful  look  with  which  she  had 
caught  at  his  arm  that  evening  at  Barrenberg's,  as  if 
entreating  his  aid. 

"  Poor,  foolish  little  child !  "  he  murmured. 

"What  do  you  think?  For  Heaven's  sake,  Herr 
Doctor,  tell  me  what  I  shall  do.  People  will  ask 
why  they  have  separated — my  God  !  if  my  name 
should  be  mentioned !  Dear  Herr  Doctor,  my 
father  would  shoot  me  dead,  my  father  is  so  fright- 
fully strict  about  such  matters,  and — he  is  quite 
right,  too." 

"  Your  father  is  very  fond  of  you  ?  " 

"Yes,  yes,"  she  replied,  impulsively ;  "he  loves 
me,  and  he  is  so  good,  and  I  would  rather  die  than 
stand  up  before  him  and  see  his  eyes  fixed  on  me 
so  full  of  grief  and  reproach ;  and  it  would  be  the 
best  thing  for  me." 

Her  head  sank  down  upon  his  hand  again,  and 
once  more  he  felt  the  streaming  tears. 

"  Can  they  say  anything  against  me  ?  I  did 
wrong,  but  I  have  not  been  wicked,  dear  Herr 
Doctor,"  she  sobbed. 

"I  am  afraid  you  can  hardly  escape,"  he  re- 
marked, quietly. 

She  ceased  sobbing  in  shieer  terror..     "Bttt  whv 


274  Misjudged. 


did  she  bring  me  here  with  her  ?    Why  did  she  not 
turn  me  out  of  the  house  ?"  she  said  at  length. 

He  put  his  hand  on  her  shoulder.  "Because 
Frau  Antje  has  a  noble  nature,"  he  said,  slowly ; 
"because  she  would  not  expose  her  to  reproach 
who  would  one  day  fill  her  place.  Did  you  not 
understand  that  ?  " 

Hilda  uttered  a  low  cry,  and  started  up  from  the 
floor.  "  I — in  her  place  ?  Oh,  never,  never  !  From 
the  very  moment  I  heard  that  he  had  a  wife,  I  " — 
she  hesitated  for  a  fitting  word — "hated  him  !  No 
— not  exactly  that — at  first — I  don't  know  how 
it  was,  it  was  all  so  dreadful — but  afterward  I 
hated  him,  hated  him  with  all  my  might  —  and 
now " 

"  Hilda  ! "  he  said,  reprovingly. 

She  was  quiet  for  a  while ;  nothing  was  audible 
but  her  hurried  breathing. 

"  I  will  speak  to  her,"  she  said  at  length  in  a  de- 
termined tone,  "  and  then  I  will  go  away,  far  away 
— to  England — or,  farther  still,  to  America  !  "  And 
as  if  an  idea  had  suddenly  occurred  to  her,  she 
added  :  "  Give  me  a  recommendation  iot  Brazil — 
you  were  there  a  long  time." 

"  And  what  will  you  do  in  Brazil  ?  "  he  asked  in 
a  tone  of  fatherly  mildness. 

"  Earn  my  living  !  So  many  girls  go  to  foreign 
lands." 

He  smiled  and  said  :  "  For  the  present  you  will 
stay  here.  It  is  the  only  thing  you  can  do  now.  I 
have  no  other  advice  to  give  you.  /  will  speak  to 
Frau  Antje,  not  you  ;  but  this  is  not  the  proper  time 
to  choose.     And  now  good-night,  Fraulein  Hilda  " 


Misjudged.  2^$ 


— he   had   suddenly   grown   very   formal — "  try  to 
calm  yourself." 

When  he  had  opened  the  door  to  leave  the  room, 
he  turned  round  again,  and  saw  Hilda  standing  in 
the  stream  of  light  that  came  in  from  the  hall.  Her 
wonderful  eyes  were  fixed  on  him  with  a  helpless, 
despairing  expression,  and  her  loosened  oair  hung 
heavily  about  her  tearful  face. 

He  was  shocked  at  the  sight.  "  Keep  up  a  good 
heart,  Fraulein  Hilda !  "  he  said,  earnestly,  but  his 
heart  began  to  beat  more  rapidly,  and  he  suddenly 
felt  as  if  he  would  like  to  draw  the  foolish  little 
thing,  who  had  done  so  much  harm  in  her  pas- 
sionate resentment,  close  to  his  breast  and  tell  her 
how  sorry  he  felt  for  her.  Then  he  became  con- 
scious that  he  had  stood  there  too  long,  and  he 
bowed  to  her  and  shut  the  door,  much  more 
violently  than  one  usually  shuts  the  door  of  a  room 
where  a  baby  is  asleep. 

When  he  was  outside  his  face  took  on  an  expres- 
sion of  vexation.  "Old  fellow,"  he  said  to  him- 
self, "  don't  be  a  fool  I  She  is  not — not  at  all  what 
you  want,  do  you  understand  ?  Be  sensible  ;  give 
your  message  to  Leo,  and  then  think  about  packing 
your  trunk,  for  this  is  no  place  for  you." 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

Maiberg  knocked  at  Leo's  chamber  door. 

'*  Come  in,"  was  the  reply,  and  he  entered.  He 
received  a  somewhat  ironical  bow  in  return  for  his 
"Good  evening."  Leo  was  in  his  dressing-gown, 
and  a  large  glass  half-filled  with  hot  punch  stood 
on  the  table  in  front  of  the  lamp.  In  the  comer 
lay  a  heap  of  wet  clothes,  from  which  a  little  stream 
of  water  was  running  down  over  the  well-scoured 
floor. 

"  What  is  this  ?  "  inquired  Maiberg. 

'Water,  pure  water,  from  the  little  stream  out 
there." 

"Have  you  had  an  accident?  Did  you  slip  on 
the  boards,  or ?  " 

"  I  did  not  do  that,  but  I  had  an  accident  in  con- 
nection with  those  boards.  I  hope  you  will  utilize 
your  new  position  as  adviser  to  the  mistress  of 
*  Gottessegen '  by  doing  a  good  deed,  and  will  insist 
upon  it  that  those  confounded  boards  shall  be  taken 
away.  Drunken  men,  or  those  who  are  subject  to 
giddiness,  cannot  possibly  cross  them  without  dan- 
ger. As  future  iEsculapius  to  the  mines,  it  is  your 
bounden  duty  to  look  out  for  the  bodily  welfare  of 
those  confided  to  your  care.  I  suppose  I  am  not 
mistaken  in  taking  it  for  granted  that  your  endless 
interview  with  the  chief  of  the  works  this  afternoon 


Misjudged.  ill 


was  for  the  purpose  of  settling  this  matter  ?  I  am 
sure  I  cannot  imagine  what  else  of  importance  you 
could  have  to  discuss  with  her.  The  Frau  Bergrath 
is  now  already  resting  from  her  labors,  and  no 
longer  requires  your  assistance." 

During  this  speech  Maiberg  had  gazed  silently  at 
his  friend — who  was  walking  up  and  down  like  a 
caged  lion — with  eyes  that  grew  more  and  more 
anxious  the  more  violent  Leo  grew. 

"Leo,"  he  said,  at  length,  "will  you  not  sit 
down  ? " 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  you  to  offer  me  a  chair  in  this 
house  ;  it  is  quite  in  accordance  with  your  new  po- 
sition, which  I  was  just  talking  about." 

Maiberg  paid  no  attention  to  this  remark,  but 
drew  forward  a  chair  in  front  of  Leo,  who  had 
thrown  himself  down  on  the  sofa,  and  seating  him- 
self, he  said  :  "  I  have  something  to  say  to  you,  Leo. 
I  wish  you  would  imagine  we  were  as  we  used  to  be, 
when  you  did  not  dislike  me  but  trusted  in  me." 

"  Perhaps  you  bring  me  a  message  from  my 
wife?" 

"  Yes,  Leo ;  and  now  be  once  more  the  mild,  rea- 
sonable, and  just  person  you  used  to  be." 

"  You  seem  to  consider  me  rather  weak  in  intel- 
lect at  present  ?  " 

Maiberg  made  no  reply  to  this.  He  only  said, 
quietly :  "  Your  wife  begs  that  you  will  leave  Ober- 
rode,  as  at  present  she  does  not  feel  able  to  attend 
to  the  settlement  of  all  these  details  which  your 
strained  relations  unfortunately  require.  She  begs 
that  you  will  have  patience  until  the  first  days  of 
mourning  for  her  mother  have  passed." 


278  Misjudged. 


Leo  Jussnitz  looked  fixedly  at  the  speaker  for  a 
moment,  and  then  he  burst  into  a  loud,  convulsive 
laugh, 

"  I  would  advise  you,  Leo,"  continued  Maiberg, 
quite  unmoved,  "  to  let  her  have  her  way.  In  the 
condition  in  which  you  both  are  at  present — you  in 
a  state  of  extreme  irritation  ;  she,  in  one  of  iron 
determination — it  will  be  better  for  you  to  avoid 
each  other.  Let  some  little  time  pass,  and  then, 
perhaps — who  knows  ? — there  may  be  found  some 
way  out  of  it." 

Leo  had  grown  perfectly  calm.  "  So  that  is  why 
I  got  such  a  curt  refusal  to  my  humble  request 
for  an  audience,"  he  said  at  length.  "  She  will  not 
see  me  !   She  is  right ;  it  is  better  that  I  should  go." 

"  No ;  she  certainly  will  not,  Leo." 

Leo  got  up  and  began  to  resume  his  walk  up 
and  down  the  room.  Maiberg  remained  seated, 
playing  with  the  fringe  of  the  table-cloth.  He  did 
not  like  to  look  at  the  pale  face  of  the  man  who 
had  been  the  dearest  friend  of  his  youth.  He  knew 
there  would  be  a  violent  scene,  he  was  so  well  ac- 
quainted with  his  character. 

**  Perhaps  you  will  now  undertake  your  long- 
planned  journey  to  Italy,  Leo  ?  "  he  began  again. 

**  How  beautifully  you  have  arranged  it  all !  " 
was  the  sarcastic  reply.  "  Why  don't  you  put  me, 
without  more  ado,  on  board  an  out-going  ship,  as 
people  are  in  the  habit  of  doing  with  those  whom 
they  find  in  their  way  ?  I  suppose  you  two  have 
also  settled  the  precise  amount  that  will  enable  me 
to  set  myself  up  in  business  when  I  get  there,  eh  ?  " 

"  The  proposal  to  go  to  Italy  c?m2  from  me  alone. 


Misjudged.  279 


Leo, "  said  Maiberg.  "  Your  wife  has  not  made  the 
slightest  attempt  to  advise  you." 

The  agitated  man  suddenly  stopped  in  front  of 
his  friend  ;  a  small  blue  vein  in  his  forehead  stood 
out  prominently,  and  he  breathed  with  difficulty. 

"  Wolf,"  he  began  slowly,  his  voice  growing  more 
loud  and  excited  as  he  went  on,  "Wolf,  what  did 
I  write  to  you  a  while  ago  ?  Did  I  say  too  much 
about  my  wife  ?  She  is  petty,  she  is  foolish,  she 
is  revengeful,  revengeful  to  the  last  degree,  and^ 
she  is  the  wife  of  an  artist,  she " 

And  he  struck  his  forehead  with  the  palm  of  his 
hand  and  laughed. 

"  Leo  !  "  exclaimed  his  friend,  reproachfully. 

"  Be  silent,"  cried  the  irritated  man.  "  I  know 
her  better  than  you  do  !  Do  you  know  what  in- 
duces her  to  bury  herself  alive  here  ?  In  the  first 
place  it  is  jealousy,  the  meanest,  the  most  pitiful 
jealousy.  She  wishes  to  force  me  to  live  in  this 
solitude  because  here  she  is  hardly  likely  to  find 
any  woman  who  would  throw  her  into  the  shade  ; 
and  then — it  is  that  wretched  mercenary  spirit  of 
hers — she  thinks  she  can  save  up  her  pennies  here 
as  her  mother  did  before  her.  Here  with  the  best 
will  in  the  world  you  can't  spend  money.  You  do 
not  need  to  tell  me  what  sort  of  spirit  rules  under 
this  roof.  And  it  is  here  that  I  sought  the  com- 
panion of  my  life,  and  thought  if  she  were  willing 
to  give  herself  to  me,  what  could  she  care  for  the 
miserable  money  !  I  believed  in  a  warm,  hearty, 
mutual  interchange,  Wolf — ah,  it  is  too  pitiful  ! 
Why  did  I  prove  such  a  wretched  shot  ?  Let  her 
stay  here  in  the  devil's  name,  and  watch  over  her 


28o  Misjudged. 


money-bags  like  a  dragon.  Do  what  you  like — 
but  let  me  get  away  from  here  as  soon  as  possible." 

Maiberg  suffered  him  to  go  on  without  inter- 
ruption ;  and  when  he  had  finished  he  made  no  at- 
tempt at  soothing  him.  Any  defence  of  his  wife 
now  would  only  have  been  pouring  oil  on  the  flames. 

"  If  you  will  allow  it,  Leo,  I  will  go  with  you." 

"  Much  obliged  !  Don't  disturb  j-^ourself.  Your 
presence  here  probably  cannot  be  dispensed  with." 

"  I  have  no  more  to  do  here,  Leo.  I  should  go 
to-morrow  morning,  at  any  rate." 

"  Go — whenever  you  like  !  " 

"  Certainly  !    May  I  ask  you  one  question,  Leo  ?  " 

"  You  may  ask.  I  cannot  say  that  I  will  answer 
it." 

"What  was  your  idea  about  Hildegarde  von 
Zweidorf  ?  " 

The  painter  stopped  and  drew  a  deep  breath. 
"  Hilda  ? "  he  gasped  out.  "  Yes,  another  victim  to 
a  petty  nature  !  Dragged  into  this  wilderness  and 
shut  up  in  the  nursery  !  To  clip  the  wings  of  a 
creature  bom  to  fly  among  the  clouds  like  an  eagle, 
that  is  the  good  work  of  the  so-called  reasonable, 
upright,  virtuous  housewife !  Perhaps  she  has  a 
situation  all  ready  for  her  in  the  counting-house,  or 
in  the  kitchen,  very  likely.  The  poor  thing  is  quite 
powerless  in  her  clutches,  for  she  spied  upon  us  as 
I,  in  my  emotion  at  the  thought  of  parting  with  the 
only  creature  in  the  world  who  cast  a  little  sunlight 
on  my  path,  kissed  the  girl's  hand  a  little  more 
warmly  than  fashion  permits.  That — oh,  bah  !  It 
is  not  worth  speaking  about.  I  can  do  nothing  for 
her  now — nothing  !  " 


Misjudged.  281 


And  again  that  blue  vein  swelled  on  his  forehead. 

"  Why  do  you  look  at  me  like  that  ?  "  he  cried  to 
his  friend.  "  Do  me  the  only  favor  in  your  power, 
and  leave  me.  I  will  not  see  any  of  you  again  ; 
not  one  of  you.  Do  you  understand  ?  But  tell  my 
wife  that  I  am  glad  to  go  ;  that  I  aw  delighted  to 
consent  to  a  separation.  That  from  this  moment  I 
consider  myself  z.free  man,  and  I  only  regret  that 
I  cannot  give  her  back  every  penny  that  her  folly 
in  marrying  me  has  cost  her  !  Perhaps  she  may 
get  some  Gradgrind  for  her  second  husband,  who 
will  help  her  to  get  back  what  she  lost  through  the 
first.     I  hope  so  with  all  my  heart." 

He  threw  off  his  dressing-gown,  snatched  a  coat 
from  the  hook,  took  up  an  overcoat  off  the  chair,  and 
his  hat.     It  was  a  soft  felt  hat,  dripping  with  water. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  Leo,  where  are  you  going  ? 
Man,  don't  lose  your  head  entirely  !  " 

But  Jussnitz  only  shrugged  his  shoulders  and 
marched  out  of  the  door. 

Maiberg  hurried  into  his  own  room  to  get  his  fur 
coat  and  hat.     He  dared  not  let  him  go  like  this. 

Leo  rushed  along  the  corridor.  He  had  already 
reached  the  staircase,  when  he  turned  round,  after  a 
moment's  hesitation,  and  walked  quickly  back  to  the 
nursery.  A  short  knock  at  the  door,  a  turn  of  the 
knob,  and,  without  waiting  For  an  answer,  he  was 
inside. 

"  Who  is  it  ?  "  called  out  Hilda. 

"  I,  Leo  Jussnitz  !  "  replied  a  voice  which  she 
would  hardly  have  recognized,  so  hoarse  was  it. 

The  young  girl  started  up  and  uttered  a  low  cry 

*^YouV' 


aSa  Misjudged. 


'*  To  be  sure  !  I  might  say  I  had  come  to  say 
good-by  to  my  child,  but  why  should  I  tell  a  false- 
hood? I  wish  to  say  good-by  Xoyou.  I  wish  to  leii 
you  how  much  I  regret — I  wish  to  ask  your  pardon, 
Hilda." 

She  had  lighted  a  lamp  with  her  trembling  hands. 
He  could  now  see  her  tear-stained  face  and  her  eyes 
flashing  with  anger. 

"  I  do  not  recall  anything  that  I  have  to  forgive, 
Herr  Jussnitz,"  she  replied,  coldly.  "You  have 
probably  made  a  mistake  and  wish  to  ofifer  your 
apologies  to  your  wife." 

He  looked  at  her  in  surprise,  "  You  have  been 
schooled  admirably,"  he  said,  **  but  you  must  not 
imagine  that  I  shall  take  this  lofty  reproof  in 
earnest." 

"  Why  not  ?  •* 

"  Because  your  eyes  told  me  a  very  diflferent  story 
only  a  few  days  ago." 

A  deep  flush  overspread  her  face,  and  the  small 
hands  were  clenched ;  her  pride  and  mortification 
almost  robbed  her  of  her  senses. 

'*  My  eyes  ?  My  eyes  have  now  and  never  had 
anything  to  say  to  you  !  "  she  cried,  vehemently. 

"  Nothing — nothing  at  all  ?  "  he  said,  mockingly. 

Her  breath  came  quickly,  the  tears  rolled  down 
her  cheeks.  She  determined  that,  cost  what  it 
might,  she  would  now  and  forever  disabuse  him  of 
the  idea  that  she  had  ever  felt  the  slightest  interest 
in  him. 

"  You  were  always  perfectly  indifferent  to  me  !  " 
she  gasped  out. 

He  gave  a  short  laugh  and  made  her  a  low  bow. 


Misjudged.  483 


**  Why,  then,  this  passionate  denial  ?  Do  not  agi- 
tate yourself ! "  he  said.  "  I  believe  you,  Hilda, 
since  you  wish  it  to  be  so,  I  give  you  my  word, 
I  believe  you,  until  you " 

"  But  it  is  so,  it  is  really  so  ! "  she  interposed. 

"  I  am  convinced  of  it,"  he  said,  sarcastically. 
"  Nearly  a  week  has  passed  since  that  evening  in 
Sibyllenburg — of  course  jj'^a  have  forgotten  all  about 
it.  I  have  been  described  to  you  as  a  monster  of 
iniquity,  to  whom  nothing  in  the  world  is  sacred  ; 
they  have  been  preaching  to  you  about  morals  and 
decency  and  Mrs.  Grundy,  and — you  are  a  good, 
obedient  child.  It  is  quite  right  of  you  ;  I  wish 
you  all  sorts  of  happiness  as  a  reward  for  your  docil- 
ity.    Farewell  ! " 

"  No  one  has  said  a  word  about  you,  and  no  one 
has  given  me  advice !  "  cried  the  girl,  quite  beside 
herself.  "  And  if  you  wish  to  hear  the  exact  truth,  I 
made  my  eyes  lie  to  you  on  purpose  to  revenge  my- 
self on  you.  It  was  only  a  whim,  a  madness,  if  you 
like,  of  mine,  for  what  can  you  possibly  be  to  me  ? 
I  have  loved  another  man  for  a  long,  long  time. 
There,  now,  you  know  the  truth  !  " 

He  took  up  his  hat,  which  he  had  let  fall.  The 
candle  cast  its  flickering  light  on  his  pale,  quivering 
features,  and  on  the  girl  who,  covering  her  face 
with  both  hands,  had  turned  her  back  on  him  and 
stood  there  trembling  all  over. 

"  Another,  Hilda  ?  "  he  exclaimed. 

She  gave  a  sob  as  she  bent  her  head. 

"  Maiberg  ?  "  he  asked,  and  as  she  made  no  reply, 
he  said  :  "Of  course  it  is  Maiberg." 

He  suddenly  laughed  aloud. 


584  Misjudged. 


"  Well,  then — good  luck  to  you,  Hilda !  Fare- 
well! I — surprises  come  to  us  all  now  and  then. 
My  heartiest  congratulations." 

All  this  was  uttered  between  outbursts  of  the 
same  loud  laughter,  which  sounded  strangely  out  of 
place  within  these  walls  from  which  the  dead  had 
just  been  carried  out.  Still  laughing,  he  left  the 
room,  where  the  terrified  cries  of  the  child  mingled 
with  the  sobs  of  the  young  girl,  and  still  laughing, 
he  walked  along  the  corridor  and  reached  the  stair- 
case. 

There  he  met  Maiberg  coming  hurriedly  up  the 
stairs. 

'*  I  have  been  looking  for  you  everywhere,  Leo." 

The  laughter  ceased  ;  the  painter  measured  his 
friend  from  head  to  foot. 

*'  You  are  a  devilish  fellow,  Maiberg,"  he  cried, 
**  but  I  don't  grudge  you  your  good  fortune  ;  I  was 
never  a  dog  in  the  manger.  I  only  pity  you  for 
having  the  misery  of  such  a  choice.  Well,  good- 
by ;  don't  trouble  yourself  about  me.  You  might 
be  missed  here  where  there  are  so  many  tears  in 
beautiful  eyes  to  be  wiped  away." 

He  was  about  to  pass  his  friend,  but  his  steps  were 
arrested  by  a  confused  murmur  of  voices  coming  up 
from  the  hall  below  ;  a  shrill  woman's  voice  rose 
above  all  the  rest.  In  the  large,  dimly-lighted  hall 
several  people  had  collected  round  a  poor  woman, 
who  shrieked  all  the  louder  the  more  they  tried  to 
soothe  her. 

"  Let  the  man  who  pulled  him  out  of  the  water," 
she  cried,  "  give  him  the  money  to  buy  his  gin,  too^ 
for  he  can't  live  without  it !  " 


Misjudged.  285 


Leo  stopped  short  half-way  downstairs. 

"  There,  you  see,  Wolf,  that  is  just  my  luck  !  I 
make  a  mess  of  it,  even  when  I  risk  my  life  for 
another." 

"  Sir,"  screamed  the  woman,  when  she  perceived 
Leo,  "  I  would  have  thanked  you  on  my  knees  if 
you  had  only  let  him  drown  !  It  would  have  been 
the  best  thing  that  could  happen  to  him,  and — I — I 
might  have  had  a  few  years  of  comfort  still.  Oh, 
don't  laugh,"  she  continued,  as  Leo  gave  a  short 
Hugh.  "  You  don't  any  of  you  here  know  what  it 
is  do  be  chained  to  a  drunken  sot  from  the  time  you 
were  eighteen !  You  don't  know  what  a  misery  it 
is  to  see  a  person  you  are  fond  of  going  down  into 
shame  and  degradation ;  you  don't  know  what  it  is 
to  have  to  give  up  all  your  hard-earned  money  and 
see  it  squandered  in  bad  company  ;  nor  what  it  is  to 
give  kindness  and  get  blows  in  return — always  a 
blow  and  abuse — and  to  be  told  that  you  are  the 
curse  of  a  man,  when  you  would  have  been  ready 
to  lie  down  and  let  him  walk  over  you  !  You  don't 
know  how  awful  it  is,  if  you  have  known  better 
days,  and  yet  you  go  sinking  deeper  and  deeper  in 
vileness  and  misery,  and  you  have  children,  too, 
that  you  can't  save  !  "  And  she  covered  her  face 
with  her  clenched  fists. 

"  And  why,"  said  Leo's  voice,  with  a  sneer,  "  do 
you  treat  us  to  a  scene  like  this,  you  most  amiable 
of  wives  ?  Take  yourself  off  ! — ah  !  yes,"  he  broke 
off,  suddenly  ;  "  I  forgot " 

The  woman  threw  her  torn  shawl  over  her  head, 
with  a  dull  groan. 

"  Ah,  sir,"  she  sobbed,  "  I  ought  to  thank  you 


286  Misjudged. 


fr>r  risking  your  life  for  the  miserable  wretch,  but  I 
can't.  Don't  think  me  a  wicked  woman  ;  I  was 
too  good  to  him — I  was  too  fond  of  him.  It  is  no 
use  to  pardon  everything  out  of  pure  love,  even 
wrong  things.  If  I  had  only  scolded  him  in  the 
first  place — if  I  had  threatened  to  leave  him — it 
would  have  been  much  better.  But  I  thought  it 
would  vex  him,  and  he  was  the  master,  and  so  I 
only  cried  by  myself,  though  it  was  my  duty  to  keep 
him  in  the  straight  path." 

The  poor  woman's  self -accusation  sounded  so  true 
and  so  sad  that  no  one  present  felt  like  turning  her 
out  forcibly. 

Maiberg  hastened  to  put  a  few  silver  pieces  into 
her  trembling  hand.  ; 

"  There,  now  go,"  he  said,  leading  her  toward 
the  door  ;  "by  and  by  I  will  come  and  talk  to  you." 

"  God  reward  you  !  God  reward  you  !  "  cried  the 
poor  creature,  and  when  she  reached  the  outer 
door  she  turned  round  and  nodded  gratefully  with 
her  haggard,  yellow  face  to  the  young  physician. 
Then  she  was  suddenly  swallowed  up  in  the  dark- 
ness outside,  as  if  she  feared  her  treasure  would  be 
taken  from  her.  She  vanished  to  go  and  procure 
for  the  miserable  wretch  whom  she  loved,  the  cordial 
for  which  he  longed. 

Antje  stood,  forgotten  by  every  one,  on  the 
threshold  of  the  little  study,  the  door  of  which  was 
hidden  by  the  staircase.  Her  eyes  were  fixed  on 
the  man  who,  at  this  moment,  was  about  to  leave 
her  forever.  She  had  heard  the  woman's  words, 
and  understood  that  Leo  had  saved  a  man  from 
drowning ;  her  heart  beat  violently  at  the  thought 


Misjudged.  287 


that  he  himself  might  so  easily  have  been  drowned, 
and  she  felt  that  this  act  of  her  husband's  was  like 
balm  to  the  wound  which  he  had  inflicted  upon  her. 

He  moved  forward  into  the  hall ;  the  funeral 
guests,  who  had  risen  from  the  supper-table  when 
they  heard  the  noise,  the  servant-maids,  the  porter, 
and  coachman  had  gone  away,  and  only  Maiberg, 
Jussnitz,  and  a  man  from  the  counting-house  were 
now  talking  together.  Antje  saw  the  latter  hand  a 
letter  and  a  telegram  to  Leo ;  she  saw  him  put  them 
both  into  his  pocket  with  an  effort  at  carelessness, 
and  heard  him  say: 

"  I  will  send  you  my  address  in  a  few  days." 

Then  he  and  Maiberg  moved  toward  the  door. 

The  young  wife  leaned  against  the  door-post; 
her  eyes  were  strangely  wide  and  fixed.  When  two 
people  separate  like  this  they  do  not  say  farewell ;  it 
could  not  be  borne.  She  saw  the  door  open ;  she 
felt  the  cold,  damp  air  blowing  in,  saw  the  door 
shut  behind  him — and  he  was  gone. 

Suddenly  her  limbs  failed  her  ;  she  staggered 
back  into  the  little  room,  and  shutting  the  door 
with  all  the  strength  she  could  summon,  she  sank 
upon  her  knees. 

It  was  all  over  now — all  over  I 

She  felt  nothing  but  a  dull  ache  at  her  heart  and 
in  her  head.  She  never  knew  how  long  she  lay 
there.  At  length  she  sat  up  and  dragged  herself 
over  to  the  writing-table  and  laid  her  head  down 
on  the  baize-covered  surface. 

She  kept  thinking,  thinking  all  manner  of  con- 
fused thoughts — that  she  envied  the  woman  who 
could  give  a  poisonous  cordial  to  the  man  she  loved ; 


•88'  Misjudged. 


that  Leo  might  have  been  drowned  in  his  work  of 
mercy,  and  she  could  not  have  borne  it  to  stand 
beside  his  dead  body  without  ever  having  spoken 
a  word  of  reconciliation.  And  she  thought  that 
that  poor  woman  was  better  than  she,  for  she  had 
clung  to  the  man  to  whom  she  had  pledged  her 
faith,  in  spite  of  misery  and  abuse. 

And  then  she  started  up.  No !  A  thousand 
times  no  !  She  could  not  do  otherwise  ;  she  ought 
not  to  keep  him  beside  her  ;  she  was  only  a  chain 
to  drag  him  down — his  chain — and  she  could  not 
pass  a  moment  beside  him  without  being  forced  to 
feel  how  unhappy  she  made  him,  how  her  presence 
weighed  upon  him  !  No,  no  !  It  was  all  over,  it 
must  be  all  over  ! 

Outside  she  heard  a  light  step  at  her  door. 

"  Frau  Jussnitz  I  "  said  a  clear  voice. 

She  did  not  stir. 

"  Only  one  word,  Frau  Jussnitz  I  Please, 
please ! " 

Antje  held  her  breath  and  looked  gloomily  at  the 
door.  The  handle  moved  slightly.  In  vain  ;  the 
door  was  locked,  and  the  steps  reluctantly  retreated. 

Antje  leaned  her  weary  head  on  her  hand  again. 
At  last  she  roused  herself  and  rang  for  the  house- 
maid. The  latter  came  in  inquiring  if  Fraulein 
von  Zweidorf  was  here. 

*'  No." 

'*  Good  Heavens,  we  have  been  looking  all  over 
the  house  for  her,  and  we  cannot  find  her  any- 
where. And  the  master  has  gone  away,  and  the 
Herr  Doctor,  too." 

The  young  wife  made  no  reply.     She  calmly  or- 


Misjudged.  289 


dered  the  girl  to  look  after  the  child,  and  then 
went  downstairs.     In  the  hall  she  met  Maiberg. 

"  Where  have  you  been  ? "  she  asked. 

"  I  have  been  to  see  that  unlucky  drunkard,"  he 
replied,  with  a  slight  touch  of  irony.  "  He  just 
died  before  my  eyes,  and  so  his  wife  has  her  wish. 
But  I  never  witnessed  a  more  heart-breaking  burst 
of  grief  than  hers  when  I  told  her  it  was  all  over." 

Antje  nodded  with  a  strange  look.  "  And  where 
is  he  ?  "  she  asked  at  length. 

Maiberg  sighed. 

"  Leo  was  to  wait  for  me  before  the  house  in 
which  the  dead  man  lay,  but  when  I  came  back 
he  was  gone.  One  of  the  miners  saw  him  on  the 
high-road.  I  am  going  to  have  a  horse  saddled 
and  ride  after  him  ;  I  promised  him  I  would." 

She  did  not  look  at  him.  "And  where  is  she  !  " 
she  asked.  - 

"Who?"  ^ 

"  Hildegarde  ;  we  have  been  looking  for  her 
everywhere." 

Then  she  turned  to  shake  hands  with  her  cousin, 
who  had  just  come  up  to  say  good-by. 

"  Cousin,  command  me  if  you  ever  need  my  ser- 
vices," he  said. 

'•'  Thank  you  !     Are  you  going  to  J ?  " 

*'  No  ;  through  Oberrode,  past  the  cliffs." 

She  nodded  wearily.  "A  safe  home-coming, 
Ferdinand!" 

Maiberg  hurried  past  her  up  the  staircase,  but 
Hildegarde's  room  was  vacant — and  the  night  out- 
side was  so  dark  and  stormy,  and  she  was  so  young, 
so  alone,  so  unprotected  !     Of  course  she  had  goae, 


290  Misjudged. 


with  her  usual  impulsiveness.  But  where  had  she 
gone? 

He  lighted  a  candle  and  looked  about  for  a  note 
or  something  which  might  give  him  a  clue,  but  in 
vain.  He  rushed  into  his  own  room — it  was  a  cor- 
ner-room. The  spring  storm  beat  against  the  shut- 
ters, and  the  columns  of  fire  from  the  works  shed  a 
peculiar  red,  flickering  light  over  it.  He  stopped  in 
the  middle  of  the  room  and  listened  to  the  howling  of 
the  wind.  Good  Heavens,  where  was  that  thought- 
less child  in  this  dreadful  night  ?  He  pulled  up 
the  overcoat,  which  he  had  half  thrown  off,  with  a 
sudden  jerk  over  his  shoulders.  The  horse  must  be 
saddled  by  this  time  ;  perhaps  he  might  overtake  her 
on  the  high-road,  with — him  ?  In  the  deepest  agita- 
tion he  caught  up  his  hat,  but  something  moved  in 
the  dark  corner  by  the  window,  and  a  slender  figure 
glided  toward  him. 

"  Hilda  !  "  he  cried  out.  By  the  flickering  light 
from  outside,  he  could  see  the  same  pale,  despair- 
ing face  she  had  worn  before. 

"  Good  God,  Hilda,  to  what  misconstructions 
you  expose  yourself !  "  he  said,  reprovingly,  as  she 
hung  down  her  head. 

"  I  was  afraid,"  she  said  in  a  low  tone ;  "  where 
could  I  go  ?  " 

"  And  so  you  came  to  me  ?  " 

He  threw  off  his  overcoat  and  flung  his  hat  down 
on  the  table. 

"  To  whom  could  I  go  ?  "  she  asked,  as  if  it  were 
quite  a  matter  of  course  that  she  should  take  ref- 
uge with  him.  "  When  I  knocked  at  Frau  Antje's 
door,  she  would  not  let  me  in." 


Misjudged.  201 

He  took  her  trembling  hands  in  his.  They  were 
cold  as  ice. 

"  To  whom  could  you  go  ? "  he  repeated,  softly. 
But  as  he  heard  steps  outside  in  the  corridor,  he 
started  and  looked  at  the  door.  "  You  must  go 
straight  to  your  own  room,"  he  whispered,  dropping 
her  hands. 

She  drew  away  from  him,  and  turning  her  back, 
she  covered  her  glowing  face  with  her  hands. 

"  Hilda,"  he  continued  in  a  suppressed  voice, 
"  even  you  can  understand  that  no  one  must  find 
you  here.  What  did  you  want  of  me  ?  Speak 
quickly,  for  one  of  the  servants  may  come  in  at  any 
moment." 

"  Good  Heavens,  what  have  I  done  now  ? "  she 
cried.  "  Oh,  if  you  only  knew  all  !  Have  I  then 
no  refuge  .?  I  want  nothing  but  to  be  allowed  to  go 
away,  only  to  go  away  from  here  !  " 

"  Yes,  you  shall  go  if  you  like.  But  you  cannot 
go  this  evening,  you  silly  child." 

"  But  to-morrow — to-morrow  !     Please,  please  !  " 

"  To-morrow,  or  the  next  day.  Now  I  must  go 
and  look  for  Jussnitz  ;  then  I  shall  come  back  once 
more  in  any  case — and  then — will  you  be  reason- 
able?" 

She  nodded.  She  was  standing  before  him  again, 
crying  softly. 

"  What  will  become  of  you,  Hilda,  without  a  firm, 
faithful  hand  to  guide  you  ? "  he  said,  gently. 

"  Oh,  if  I  could  only  be  different !  "  she  sobbed 
And,  as  if  to  prove  that  this  "  being  different  "  was 
not  to  be  hoped  for  very  soon,  she  rushed  thought- 
lessly out  of  the  room.     Outside,  she  looked  about 


292  Misjudged. 


on  all  sides  like  a  frightened  deer.  Thank  God,  the 
corridor  was  empty  !  She  slipped  across  into  her 
own  room,  shut  the  door  noiselessly  behind  her,  and 
stood  still,  breathing  quickly.  Then  she  groped  her 
way  to  the  sofa,  crouched  down  in  a  comer  of  it, 
and  burst  into  a  passion  of  tears ;  but  she  was  no 
longer  afraid. 

When  a  few  minutes  later  she  heard,  between  the 
howling  of  the  wind  and  the  strokes  of  the  hammers, 
the  clattering  hoofs  of  a  galloping  horse,  she  raised 
her  head  and  clasped  her  hands.  Maiberg  came 
back  toward  morning.  He  had  not  found  Leo, 
either  at  the  station  or  at  any  of  the  inns  in  the  little 
watering-place  near  by.  He  must  have  gone  through 
the  woods  to  another  station  on  the  south  side  of 
the  mountains. 

Maiberg  went  to  bed  tired  to  death.  "Poor, 
foolish  fellow  !  "  he  murmured.  "  How  can  a  man 
throw  away  his  happiness  like  that  ?  " 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

The  storm  was  raging  in  the  leafless  beech- 
woods  ;  it  shook  the  tops  of  the  old  trees  till  they 
bent  and  creaked,  occasionally  flung  a  dead  bough 
to  the  ground,  where  it  fell  with  a  crash  among  the 
underbrush,  and  howled  and  whistled  through  the 
air  in  every  imaginable  key. 

It  was  the  sort  of  weather  when  the  people  of  the 
Harz  say  the  Wild  Huntsman  traverses  his  domain 
with  his  uncanny  crew,  weather  in  which  one  would 
not  turn  a  dog  from  the  door,  much  less  a  man. 

But  the  wild  night  seemed  to  have  no  terrors  for 
the  man  who,  avoiding  the  travelled  carriage  road, 
was  climbing  the  steep  woodland  path,  still  covered 
with  snow,  which  led  up  from  the  valley  where  the 
iron-works  were  situated ;  and  he  seemed  to  be 
perfectly  acquainted  with  this  region.  Up  here  the 
snow  still  covered  the  ground,  and  the  pale  moon 
shed  a  faint  light  over  the  landscape,  though  now 
and  then,  when  the  storm -driven  clouds  passed  ovei 
the  moon,  the  woods  were  all  blended  together  in 
one  dark  mass.  But  this  did  not  last  long,  and 
then  the  black  trunks  of  the  huge  trees  stood  out 
all  the  more  distinctly  from  the  snowy  background. 

It  is  not  one  of  those  spring  nights  when  the 
hunter  creeps  out  after  the  shy  mountain  cock ;  it 
is  still  winter  up  here,  and  more  like  the  nights 
when  poachers  lurk  behind  the  great  tree-trunks 


294  Misjudged. 


and  spread  out  their  snares  for  their  prey.  And 
there  is  plenty  of  game  here.  When  the  forester  in 
his  little  house  on  the  high  plateau  hears  a  shot,  he 
mutters  an  oath  in  his  pillows,  and  fancies  himself 
sending  a  bullet  after  the  vile  poachers,  which  will 
put  an  end  to  their  midnight  forays  forever.  For 
who  else  would  be  shooting  at  this  time  of  night  ? 

The  man  who  had  been  walking  on  so  rapidly 
stopped  for  a  moment  and  lifted  his  hat  from  his 
burning  forehead, 

"  It  would  be  the  best  thing  I  could  do ! "  he 
muttered  under  his  breath.  His  life  was  an  utter 
failure  in  any  case  ;  he  had  been  disappointed  in 
everything !  He  had  failed  in  everything.  Even 
the  slightest  faithfulness  and  devotion,  such  as  the 
most  miserable  woman  feels  for  the  companion  of 
her  life,  had  been  denied  him. 

She  had  sent  him  away  !  Where  he  went  was  a 
matter  of  indifference  to  her,  so  long  as  he  went  out 
of  her  sight ! 

From  the  iron- works,  "Gottessegen,"  to  the  forest- 
house,  was  a  walk  of  an  hour  and  a  half,  but  the 
person  accomplishing  the  distance  in  that  time  must 
be  a  good  walker.  The  Frau  Forsterin,  with  the 
reddish-gold  hair,  always  took  much  longer  to  reach 
Oberrode ;  she  had  such  little  feet  and  wore  such 
dainty  shoes.  She  had  been  down  there  to-day, 
ostensibly  to  attend  the  funeral,  but  in  reality  to 
see  Herr  Jussnitz,  who  had  painted  her  once  so 
beautifully  that  she  had  appeared  in  all  the  news- 
papers. Then  he  had  been  such  a  bright,  merry 
young  fellow.     She  had  come  home  in  the  twilight, 


Misjudged.  295 


and  now  she  was  sitting  after  supper  in  the  hot 
little  parlor,  telling  her  husband,  who  sat  smoking 
on  the  bench  by  the  stove,  how  very  much  changed 
Herr  Jussnitz  was,  that  he  did  not  look  in  the  least 
like  himself,  he  looked  so  proud  and  so  indifferent. 
As  she  talked  she  went  on  caressing  "Lola,"  a  little 
dachshund  with  intelligent  eyes  and  lively  ways, 
like  her  mistress,  and  a  reddish-brown  coat,  just  the 
color  of  her  mistress's  hair. 

The  forester  shook  his  head.  *'Ah,  I  am  sorry 
for  that ;  his  riches  haven't  done  him  much  good," 

"  I  only  wish  /  had  some  of  them,"  she  laughed. 
"  Eh,  Lola,  we  would  soon  learn  how  to  ride  in  a 
coach  !  And  I  would  buy  you  a  sky-blue  neck  rib- 
bon, Lola ;  that  is  our  color." 

*'  You  shouldn't  always  be  chattering  such  non- 
sense," said  the  grave-looking  man  with  the  weath- 
er-beaten face. 

"  Oh,  good  gracious,"  she  continued,  notwith- 
standing, "  how  lucky  Frau  Jussnitz  is  !  " 

"  You  ought  to  have  married  a  rich  man,  then " 

"  Yes,  so  I  ought — if  it  hadn't  been  for  that  stupid 
Oberrode  shooting-match  ! " 

At  this  her  husband  began  to  smile. 

**  And  if  you  hadn't  been  made  king  of  the  festi- 
val," she  continued.  "But  I  fell  in  love  with  you, 
and  when  I  danced  with  you  I  felt  as  if  I  were  a 
real  queen.  So  silly  !  And  the  next  day  all  th€ 
splendor  was  over." 

"But  not  the  love,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  well,  I  suppose  you  know,"  she  pouted. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  he  said ;  "  we  got  engaged  much  too 
quickly.     If  I  had  only  known  then  what  a  little 


296  Misjudged. 


wild-cat  it  was  I  had  caught,  I  would  have  let  you 

go- 

"  Oh,  would  you,  though  !  " 

"  Well,  there  is  the  door  ;  you  can  go  now — and 
be  quick  about  it !  "  he  laughed,  and  standing  up 
he  clapped  his  hands  as  if  he  were  frightening  off  a 
chicken. 

"  Good-by,  then  !  "  she  cried,  and  with  one  bound 
she  was  at  the  door.     "  Come,  Lola  !  " 

All  the  other  dogs,  which  were  lying  asleep  in 
front  of  the  oven,  were  wakened  by  Lola's  barking, 
and  added  their  noise  to  the  laughter  of  the  for- 
ester and  the  merry  scolding  of  his  wife.  He  caught 
her  round  the  waist  and  kissed  her,  and  between 
the  kisses  he  kept  saying  :  "  Go,  then  !  Why  don't 
you  go  ? " 

"  Good  Heavens,  do  quiet  those  dogs  !  "  she  cried, 
"  It  is  enough  to  drive  one  mad." 

But  the  dogs  forced  their  way  past  the  couple 
and  rushed  to  the  door. 

"  There  is  some  one  there,"  said  the  forester,  re- 
leasing his  wife. 

She  seized  the  lamp  and  stood  in  the  doorway 
of  the  room.  Her  husband  in  the  mean  time  had 
opened  the  outer  door,  but  he  started  back  in  amaze- 
ment, and  his  wife  nearly  dropped  her  lamp  in  her 
surprise. 

"  Herr  Jussnitz  !  "  they  both  exclaimed  in  a 
breath.  "  Good  Heavens,  in  this  weather  and  so 
late !  What  is  the  matter  ?  Have  you  lost  your 
way  ?  " 

"  Can  you  put  me  up  for  the  night  "i  "  he  inquired 

"  Why,  to  be  sure,  Herr  Jussnitz  !  " 


Misjudged.  297 


"Well,  then,  give  me  my  old  room  till  morning, 
and  some  schnapps,  if  you  can,  for  my  teeth  are 
chattering  with  the  cold." 

They  led  the  way  into  the  parlor,  and  he  sat  down 
on  a  bench  in  front  of  the  stove  ;  the  dogs  sniffed 
at  his  clothes ;  the  beech  logs  crackled  as  they 
burned,  and  "  Frau  Dorchen  "  brought  out  the  bot- 
tle of  Nordhauser,  and  the  stout  little  glasses  from 
the  wall-cupboard. 

He  caught  at  it  eagerly  and  drank  it  down. 

"  You  know  how  to  make  yourselves  comfortable 
up  here,"  he  said. 

"  I  should  just  like  to  know  what  sent  you  up 
here  to-night,"  said  the  curious  woman.  "  It  isn't 
nearly  time  yet  for  the  mountain  cocks  with  all  this 
snow." 

"  Ask  no  questions,  but  get  the  room  ready  for 
Herr  Jussnitz,  and  make  a  fire  there,"  said  the  for- 
ester. • 

And  when  she  had  left  the  room,  he  sat  still  in 
his  chair ;  he  could  see  that  something  had  gone 
wrong  with  his  belated  guest.  It  was  no  secret  in 
the  neighborhood  that  he  and  his  mother-in-law  had 
not  been  on  the  best  of  terms,  and  Heaven  only 
knew  what  there  might  have  been  in  the  will.  Dor- 
chen had  told  him  that  it  was  to  be  read  immedi- 
ately after  the  funeral. 

"You  do  not  look  very  well,  Herr  Jussnitz." 

"  And  my  looks  do  not  belie  me,  my  dear  Wend. 
I  am  not  very  well,"  replied  the  other. 

"  Dora  will  soon  have  your  room  ready." 

And,  in  fact,  the  young  wife's  slippers  were  even 
then  heard  clattering  on  the  stairs. 


298  Misjudged. 


"  It  is  all  ready,  Herr  Jussnitz,"  she  called  from 
the  door. 

He  rose  and  shook  hands  with  the  forester. 
"  Good-night,  Wend  !  " 

Frau  Dora  lighted  him  upstairs.  "  It's  a  good 
while  since  you  slept  a  night  here,  Herr  Jussnitz," 
she  laughed.  "  You  must  stoop  a  little  ;  you  have 
not  been  used  to  such  low  doors  lately.  I  am  sure 
in  your  castle  at  home  they  are  as  high  and  as 
wide  as  our  whole  house.     Aren't  they,  now  ,? " 

He  was  already  in  the  tiny  room.  As  he  turned 
round  to  say  "  Good-night  "  he  saw  her  face  blanch 
suddenly,  and  she  put  her  hand  to  her  heart.  He 
understood.  She  was  thinking  that  he  had  gone 
out  of  this  room  that  last  time  to  meet  with  that  ac- 
cident in  the  woods. 

"  Good-night,"  she  stammered.  "  And,  Herr  Juss- 
nitz, if  you  should  be  ill,  you  will  wake  us — you 
know  we  sleep  just  under  you — you  look  so  miser- 
able." 

"  Oh,  do  not  distress  yourself,"  he  replied  ;  "  I 
shall  not  need  anything." 

She  went  away  reluctantly.  He  heard  her  de- 
scend the  stairs,  and  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  some- 
thing slipped  past  her,  forced  itself  through  the 
crack  of  the  door,  and  filled  the  little  room  with 
strange  wailings  and  laments.     Was  it  memory  ? 

He  seated  himself  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  when 
he  had  put  out  the  light.  Even  then  he  could  see 
everything  so  distinctly  in  the  moonlight.  He  saw 
the  whitewashed  walls  and  the  little  mirror  over  the 
commode,  behind  which  were  a  few  peacock's  feath- 
ers.    He  knew  every  one  of  the  little  twisted  deer's 


Misjudged.  299 


horns  beside  it,  and  he  saw  the  charcoal  sketches 
on  the  wall,  the  work  of  various  master  hands,  rep- 
resenting all  manner  of  whimsical  hunting  adven- 
tures. The  forester  guarded  them  as  he  would  the 
costliest  paintings.  Leo  himself  had  sketched  the 
young  Forsterin,  riding  toward  the  Brocken  on  her 
broomstick,  with  Lola  in  her  lap,  who  was  howling  at 
the  moon.  How  the  merry  little  woman  had  laughed 
when  she  saw  it !  And  haw  he  had  painted  her 
afterward,  and  how  successful  the  picture  had  been  ! 
And  how  good  the  little  cheeses  tasted  in  the  pauses 
for  luncheon,  and  the  brown,  foaming  beer  !  Ah, 
that  was  life  ! 

He  seems  to  see  gleaming,  golden  rays  stretching 
out  before  his  eyes.  He  raises  his  hand  to  catch 
the  shimmer — but  it  is  gone.  And  he  is  sitting  here 
again,  in  the  twilight  of  an  autumn  evening  two 
years  later — his  heart  empty,  his  brain  empty,  and 
his  pockets,  too.  He  can  succeed  in  nothing.  The 
spring  of  his  life  seems  broken.  He  has  lost  his 
ideal — lost  it  in  the  dissipations  of  the  great  city,  in 
idle  lounging.  He  has  spent  his  money,  a  great 
deal  of  money,  and  he  has  debts  and  no  prospect 
of  ever  paying  them.  He  is  bankrupt,  body  and 
soul !  And  downstairs  stands  the  gun-rack  of  the 
forester,  and  there  is  not  a  soul  to  be  seen  in  the 
forest,  far  and  wide. 

His  memory  brings  back  vividly  the  bouquet  that 
Frau  Dorchen  had  placed  on  the  commode  that  day 
— red  mountain-ash  berries,  yellow  leaves,  and  green 
pine-branches.  But  he  is  no  longer  here,  and  far 
away  outside  a  shot  is  heard.     .     .     . 

The  man  sitting  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  shakes 


300  Misjudged. 


with  a  feverish  chill.  "  Now  the  misery  is  only  just 
beginning !  "  he  says  to  himself.  He  sees  himself 
waking  in  a  strange  room,  he  hears  a  wonderfully 
regular  knocking  and  hammering,  the  bed  and  the 
curtains  are  snowy  white,  and  the  sunlight  is  shining 
in  through  the  windows.  He  smells  the  odor  of 
violets.  On  his  coverlid  lies  a  little  bunch  of  the 
blue  blossoms,  and  beside  the  couch  in  the  deep  arm- 
chair reposes  in  deep  slumber  a  blond,  girlish  head. 

What  a  soft,  childish  face  !  He  puts  out  his  hand 
for  the  flowers,  awkwardly,  clumsily,  for  his  chest 
pains  him.  A  low  groan  wakens  the  girl ;  a  pair  of 
clear,  greenish  eyes,  unfathomable  as  the  sea  itself, 
gaze  at  him,  and  suddenly  the  face  is  overspread 
with  a  deep  blush.  She  starts  up  and  says  she  will 
call  her  mother. 

\11  the  comfortable  sensations  of  convalescence 
come  over  him  once  more  ;  the  first  attempt  at  walk- 
ing, the  enchanting  green  of  the  trees,  the  spring  air 
in  the  mountains — all  this  comes  back  to  him.  And 
then  he  sees  himself  walking  in  the  garden  leaning 
on  the  arm  of  the  young  girl.  The  sky  above  him 
is  deep  blue,  and  the  sun  shines  warmly  on  the 
gravel  of  the  garden  walks  ;  the  water  foams  and 
rages  over  the  dam,  and  in  the  beds  bloom  the 
yellow  and  purple  crocuses.  He  does  not  know 
himself  how  it  all  came  about,  but  all  at  once  he 
has  asked  her  if  she  will  be  his.  And  then  he  heard 
a  "  Yes,"  a  timid  but  firm  "  Yes." 

And  now  he  feels  again  that  strange  sensation 
that  never  left  him  from  that  moment,  the  feeling 
that  comes  over  a  man  when  he  feels  under  obliga- 
tions to  another  and  cannot  show  himself  sufficiently 


Misjudged.  ^i 


appreciative.  It  is  a  stupid  feeling,  and  it  makes 
him  irritable  and  nervous  and  unjust.  It  is  too  hard 
to  endure  magnanimity,  too  frightfully  hard  ;  one  is 
almost  ready  to  hate  the  person  to  whom  one  is  so 
much  indebted,  especially  when  one  believes  the 
giver  to  be  so  far  beneath  one  in  intellect,  so  far 
beneath 

Strange,  the  more  he  received,  the  more  irritable 
he  grew  !  Absurd !  She  was  his  wife^  and  she  had 
said  to  him  a  thousand  times,  **What  is  mine  is 
yours.**  And  yet,  and  yet !  In  Heaven's  name, 
had  he  put  nothing  at  all  into  the  scale,  then  ?  His 
name,  his  honorable  name,  and — nothing  more. 
Actually,  there  was  nothing  more — ^nothing!  He 
had  not  even  been  successful  in  his  pictures,  because 
— because  she  had  dragged  him  down  into  the  prose 
of  life.    It  was  all  her  fault. 

He  was  only  glad  that  he  had  told  her,  told  her 
brutally,  that  she  had  been  only  a  chain  to  weigh 
him  down — in  spite  of  her  wealth.  That  wretched 
drunkard's  wife  was  a  heroine  beside  her  ;  she  had 
had  the  strength  to  keep  her  faith  to  the  end  in 
spite  of  everything.     But  he  had  been  turned  out. 

He  gave  a  short  laugh. 

"  Really,  it  was  poetical  justice  for  her  to  dis- 
miss me,  that  I  must  admit.  I  should  hardly  have 
given  her  credit  for  so  much  spirit.     Thank  God  I  ** 

He  began  to  yawn  and  stretch  like  a  person  re- 
leased from  a  heavy  chain,  but  he  had  no  pleasant 
feeling  of  freedom.  There  is  no  freedom  without 
money,  and  he  would  rather  starve  than  take  a  penny 
of  the  alms  that  she  would  be  sure  to  offer  him. 

But  where  should  he  go  ?     What  should  he  do  ? 


302  Misjudged. 


He  began  to  undress,  and  as  usual  he  took  his 
sketch-book  and  pocket-book  out  of  his  jacket 
pocket.  There  were  the  letter,  and  the  telegram, 
too,  which  he  had  received  just  as  he  was  leaving 
the  iron-works ;  moreover,  there  was  the  elegant 
pocket  revolver,  and  here  at  last  was  the  little  red 
bow  which  he  had  been  carrying  about  with  him 
for  the  past  week.  The  dark  head  in  whose  hair 
this  bow  had  nestled  rose  before  him  with  charming 
distinctness.  Why  had  she  displayed  such  anger^ 
such  scorn,  at  last  ? 

*  Yes,  I  made  my  eyes  lie  to  you,  on  purpose, 
because  I  wished  to  be  revenged  on  you." 

Revenged  ?  For  what  ?  Because  he  had  laid  his 
homage  at  her  feet  ?  Ah,  bah  !  She  had  been  set 
on  by  Antje  ;  they  had  frightened  her  among  them. 

That  woman  whose  horizon  was  no  wider  than  a 
tea-cup,  what  could  she  understand  of  intellectual 
relationships,  of  the  force  which  attracts  one  soul  to 
another?  Everything  about  her  was  coarse  and 
clumsy,  her  whole  manner  of  thought  and  feeling. 
Pots  and  pans,  baby's  pap,  her  money-boxes — a 
delightful  conglomeration  !  Oh,  to  get  away — away 
from  this  narrowness ! 

He  went  to  the  window  and  looked  out  into  the 
night.  The  wind  had  died  down ;  a  light,  silvery 
mist  floated  about  the  beeches  beyond  the  clearing 
where  the  forest-house  stood.  He  took  up  the  letter 
and  held  it  close  before  his  eyes,  but  he  could  not 
read  the  writing  ;  and  after  all  there  was  no  hurry. 
"But  the  telegram— probably  the  announcement 
that  the  shares  in  the  F Bank  are  sold." 

He  had  given  the  order  to  sell  because  he  had 


Misjudged.  303 


happened  to  hear  that  something  was  wrong  with 
this  bank.  It  was  no  longer  any  affair  of  his,  but, 
after  all,  it  was  his  duty  to  see  that  his  wife's  for- 
tune was  safely  invested  ;  it  had  dwindled  a  good 
deal  as  it  was.  If  he  had  not  sometimes  been 
lucky  in  his  stock  speculations,  things  might  have 
been  even  worse.  Barrenberg  had  advised  him  to 
buy  these  confounded  shares.  His  friend,  who  was 
usually  well  up  in  such  matters,  had  felt  sure  they 
would  rise  in  value. 

Leo  held  the  telegram  still  unopened  in  his  hand, 
and  looked  at  it.  He  had  bought  shares  at  a  far 
higher  value  nominally  than  the  capital  which  was 
at  his  disposal.  Confound  it,  it  would  be  disgust- 
ing if  he  should  have  to  sell  at  a  much  lower  rate. 
If  he  had  only  thought  to  cast  a  glance  at  the  price* 
of  stocks  in  the  counting-room  at  the  iron-works  ! 

Suddenly  a  cold  shiver  passed  over  him.  Then 
he  groped  for  the  match-box  and  lighted  the  thin 
little  candle  in  the  shining  brass  candlestick,  put 
down  the  telegram,  and  opened  the  letter  first.  It 
contained  a  few  courteous  lines  of  regret  that  the 
Committee  of  the  Exposition  in  Berlin  were  unfor- 
tunately unable  to  accept  his  picture,  "  The  Spanish 
Dancer,"  on  account  of  want  of  room  and  its  too 
tardy  arrival. 

A  scornful  smile  passed  over  the  painter's  face  ; 
he  knew  very  well  what  phrases  the  gentlemen  of 
the  jury  had  at  hand  when  it  was  a  question  of  re- 
jecting a  picture.  They  called  it  among  themselves, 
**  putting  it  into  its  coffin." 

**  Ha,  ha,  ha !  "  Leo  was  still  laughing  as  he 
took  up  the   telegram.      "  What   now  ? "   he  said 


304  Misjudged. 


aloud,  as  he  tore  open  the  envelope,  and  his  eyes 
were  fixed  on  the  few  words  in  blue  pencil.  They 
were  as  follows  : 

"  Your  order  received  too  late.  F Bank  stopped  pay- 
ment.    Deficit  large.     Letter  follows. 

"  Kreisler." 

The  trembling  hand  dropped  the  paper ;  the 
flickering  flame  lighted  up  a  distorted  face.  Leo 
took  up  the  glass  of  water  and  drank  it  off  to  the 
last  drop  in  long,  eager  draughts,  for  his  tongue 
seemed  to  cleave  to  the  roof  of  his  mouth.  As  he 
set  it  down  again,  he  knocked  over  the  candle, 
which  went  out,  and  the  glass  went  crashing  on  the 
floor.  Then  the  bedstead  creaked,  and  a  dull 
groan  echoed  through  the  little  room.  It  pene- 
trated to  the  room  below.  Lola,  who  slept  beside 
the  Frau  Forsterin's  bed,  lifted  up  her  head  and 
emitted  a  low  howl,  followed  by  a  prolonged  growl. 

The  woman's  head  rose  from  the  pillow.  "  Will 
you  be  quiet  ? "  scolded  the  mistress  under  her 
breath.  Then  she^  too,  heard  the  groans,  and  she 
started  up  in  bed. 

"  Husband,  go  see  what  is  the  matter  upstairs  !  " 

"  I  heard  the  noise  ;  I  will  go  up,"  was  the  reply. 

A  minute  later  the  Forster  was  stumbling  up  the 
stairs  with  his  big  stick,  and  knocked  at  the  cham- 
ber door. 

"  Herr  Jussnitz,  what's  the  matter  ?  " 

No  answer. 

Wend  tried  to  turn  the  handle,  but  the  door  was 
locked. 

"  This  isn't  a  robber's  cave,"  he  grumbled. 
^*  Herr  Jussnitz  I  "  he  shouted  louder. 


Misjudged,  305 


Steps  approached  the  door,  and  a  voice  so  hoarse 
and  strange  that  he  felt  as  if  he  had  never  heard  it 
before  said  from  within  : 

"  It  is  nothing,  Wend  ;  I  was  only  having  a  bad 
dream." 

"  Open  the  window,"  advised  the  forester  ;  "  the 
air  is  too  close  in  that  little  room,  Dorchen  made 
up  too  hot  a  fire.     Good-night." 

Then  he  went  downstairs  again. 

"  You  are  always  fancying  things,"  he  grumbled  ; 
"it  was  nothing  but  a  nightmare.  Probably  the 
funeral  feast  was  rather  heavy." 

*'  And  you  scold  me  for  that,  do  you,  you  cross 
old  bear  }  "  she  said,  mockingly  ;  adding  gravely  : 
"  You  remember  his  accident  when  he  was  here  be- 
fore ?    Well,  he  looked  just  the  same  to-night." 

"You  ought  to  be  a  prophetess,  or  a  fortune- 
teller," he  said,  with  a  yawn,  "  You  are  too  clever 
by  half,  Dora,"  And  thereupon  he  pulled  up  the 
coverlet  over  his  head  and  began  to  snore. 

But  his  young  wife  could  not  sleep.  It  seemed 
to  her  as  though  something  mysterious  were  going 
on  upstairs  ;  her  heart  beat  violently,  and  she  lay 
and  stared  up  at  the  ceiling  as  if  she  could  pierce  it 
with  her  eyes,  and  she  listened  to  the  sounds  over- 
head ;  now  a  chair  was  being  pulled  out ;  it  must 
have  stood  in  front  of  the  table  between  the  win- 
dows ;  she  could  hear  it  distinctly. 

Lola  had  crept  out  of  her  basket  and  was  sniffing 
up  at  her  mistress.  The  young  wife  felt  that  the 
dog  was  listening  too,  for  a  nervous  shudder  passed 
over  her  body  now  and  then,  and  she  occasionally 
uttered  a  low  growL 


3o6  Misjudged. 


"  Lola,  what  is  going  on  up  there  ?  '  she  whispered, 
and  she  began  to  feel  frightened,  she  did  not  her- 
self know  why.  Had  the  nightmare  clung  to  her 
husband's  clothes,  and  had  he  brought  it  down  with 
him  ?  Her  limbs  seemed  weighted  with  lead,  and 
she  was  overpowered  by  a  horrible  dread. 

The  cuckoo-clock  in  the  sitting-room  struck  two. 
She  thought  of  the  day  when  the  man  upstairs  had 
met  with  his  "  accident ; "  she  and  her  husband 
had  both  had  a  very  shrewd  suspicion  what  sort 
of  an  accident  it  was.  The  night  before,  he  had 
crept  about  in  the  room  upstairs  in  precisely  the 
same  way,  and  she  had  lain  awake  then  just  as  she 
was  doing  now,  with  a  strong  presentiment  that 
something  dreadful  was  going  to  happen  ;  and  she 
had  not  been  mistaken. 

Lola  kept  on  growling  at  short  intervals.  Now 
the  man  upstairs  would  walk  up  and  down,  and 
now  he  would  stand  still ;  she  thought  she  could 
hear  a  deep  sigh.  She  tried  to  clasp  her  hands  in 
prayer,  but  she  could  not.  At  her  head,  in  the  oil 
bedstead  in  which  the  forester's  mother  used  to 
sleep,  she  could  hear  a  ticking,  loud  and  hurried, 
like  a  watch. 

"'  Such  nonsense  ! "  she  said,  scolding  herself.  "  It 
is  a  wood-moth ;  but  it  must  have  gone  crazy  to- 
night, for  I  do  not  hear  it  usually.  It  is  the  death- 
watch,"  she  thought,  with  a  shudder. 

Then  the  cuckoo  sang  out  again  in  the  next  room 
— half-past  two.  If  the  time  would  only  go  faster ; 
if  morning  would  only  come  ! 

"  My  God  !  "  she  shrieked,  suddenly.  "  God  have 
mercy  upon  us  !  " 


Misjudged.  307 


Upstairs  a  shot  had  been  fired. 

They  both  sprang  out  of  bed  and  hurriedly  threw 
on  some  clothes.  Dora  was  first  to  reach  the  stairs 
and  the  locked  door.  She  shook  the  handle  ia 
terror,  and  the  dog  scratched  at  the  threshold  and 
whined.  The  forester  came  up  with  the  axe  and 
broke  the  thin  boards  in  two. 

"  Oh,  Herr  Jussnitz  !  "  wailed  Dorchen,  as  she 
rushed  in  and  fell  on  her  knees  beside  the  man  who 
lay  there  on  the  floor,  his  body  half-supported  on 
one  arm,  the  revolver  still  in  his  hand. 

"  This  time  I  took  better  aim,"  he  gurgled  in  his 
throat  and  fell  back  insensible. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

It  was  nearly  four  o'clock  in  the  morning  when 
Antje  was  wakened  by  a  loud  ringing  at  the  door. 
Sleep  had  come  at  last  to  her  weary  eyes,  and  now 
she  started  up  out  of  a  bad  dream,  in  which  she 
was  standing  beside  the  water,  where  Leo  was 
struggling  in  vain  to  reach  the  shore  ;  she  stood 
there  with  bound  hands,  and  feet  chained,  power- 
less to  help  him.  He  bound  her  thus  himself  ;  he 
would  not  be  saved  by  her. 

She  sat  up,  with  her  heart  beating  violently.  Had 
she  been  mistaken  ?    Did  the  bell  really  ring  ? 

The  bell  rang  again,  hurriedly,  anxiously,  as  if 
there  had  been  an  accident.  She  was  dressed  in  a 
moment. 

Was  it  fire  ? 

Shuffling  feet  ran  past  along  the  corridor,  down 
the  stairs  ;  the  porter  was  hurrying  to  open  the  door. 

Antje,  with  trembling  hands,  fastened  the  belt  of 
her  blouse  ;  there  was  a  knock  already.  She  un- 
bolted the  door,  and  the  porter  stood  before  her 
with  a  pale,  terrified  face. 

"  Madame  Jussnitz — ah,  my  God,  dear  madame, 
don't  be  frightened,  there  has  been  another  accident 
— the  forester  is  downstairs — the  master,  oh,  my 
God— he " 


Misjudged.  309 


Antje  stared  at  the  old  man  as  if  she  did  not  under- 
stand a  word.     Then  she  heard  the  forester's  voice. 

"  Frau  Jussnitz,"  he  said,  coming  into  the  circle 
of  light  that  streamed  out  of  Antje's  room,  **  Hen 
Jussnitz  has  had  an  accident  like  that  he  had  be- 
fore, and  he  must  have  help  at  once.  My  wife  said 
you  had  a  doctor  in  the  house — Frau  Jussnitz,  you 
must  not  faint  !  '* 

He  sprang  forward  and  supported  the  tottering 
figure.  But  Antje  had  already  recovered,  "  Wake 
the  Herr  Doctor,"  she  ordered,  shortly,  "  and  have 
the  horses  put  to  the  carriage.  How  long  a  drive 
is  it,  Herr  Forster  .? " 

She  had  thrown  the  door  of  her  room  wide  open 
and  was  looking  for  shawls  and  wraps.  The  porter 
hurried  away. 

"  Three-quarters  of  an  hour,  if  you  do  not  spare 
the  horses,  Frau  Jussnitz." 

"  Take  additional  horses  !  "  she  called  out  to  the 
porter,  and  then  hurried  to  the  room  where  her  child 
was  sleeping.  At  that  moment  the  door  opened,  and 
Hilda  stood  before  her.  Antje  took  the  trembling 
girl  by  the  hand  and  drew  her  into  the  room. 

"  There  sleeps  the  child,"  she  said  in  great  agita- 
tion ;  "  guard  it,  for  I  must  go  to  him." 

"  What  has  happened  ?  For  Heaven's  sake,  dear 
Frau  Jussnitz,  tell  me  what  it  is  ! "  entreated  the 
terrified  girl. 

Antje  stopped  a  moment  in  her  hurried  move- 
ments. 

"  He  has  tried  to  take  his  life,"  she  said,  hoarsely. 

Maiberg  entered  the  room  just  as  Hilda  with  a 
low  cry  sank  down  fainting. 


3IO  Misjudged. 


"  Hanna,"  cried  the  young  wife  to  the  house- 
keeper, who,  wakened  out  of  her  slumbers  by  the 
unusual  noise,  had  just  come  in,  "take  care  of  the 
young  lady  ;  we  have  no  time,  we  must  go — Mai- 
berg,  come ! " 

And  she  hurried  downstairs.  Maiberg  called 
back  some  instructions  and  then  followed  her.  The 
carriage  had  just  come  round. 

"  Do  not  spare  the  horses,"  said  Antje  to  the 
coachman.  Then  she  got  in,  followed  by  Maiberg 
and  the  forester,  and  the  carriage  dashed  off.  Mai- 
berg, who  sat  beside  the  young  wife,  felt  the  trem- 
bling and  shuddering  that  shook  her  frame  from 
time  to  time.  But  no  word  of  complaint  or  of  self- 
reproach,  as  he  had  feared,  crossed  her  lips.  She 
put  a  few  questions  to  the  forester,  but  she  spoke 
with  difficulty. 

"  It  is  only  that  he  has  lost  so  much  blood,  Frau 
Jussnitz  ;  my  poor  Dorchen  did  not  know  what  to 
do — and  this  time,  you  see,  this  time  we  couldn't 
bring  him  down  to  your  house ;  this  time  it  is  worse," 
said  the  man. 

She  was  silent.  They  began  to  climb  the  steep 
hill,  but  they  still  went  rapidly.  She  leaned  out  of 
the  carriage  window.  "  We  have  only  reached  the 
toll-house,"  she  murmured. 

"  So  soon  ?  "  exclaimed  the  forester  ;  "  then  we 
shall  not  be  much  longer." 

Still  a  little  while,  and  then  the  panting  horses 
stopped  before  the  low  house,  from  whose  windows 
the  red  lamp-light  shone  out  into  the  gray  dawn  of 
the  April  morning.  Antje  got  out  and  hurried  up 
the  steps  to  the  door,  followed  by  the  forester. 


Misjudged.  311 


"  Upstairs,  Frau  Jussnitz,  upstairs! "  he  whispered. 

And  she  climbed  up  the  steep  stairs.  At  every 
step  she  leaned  heavily  on  the  banisters,  as  if  the 
boards  were  swaying  beneath  her  feet,  and  as  if  the 
house  were  tottering  over  her  head.  She  had  only 
one  wish,  one  prayer,  that  he  might  still  live,  if  only 
for  a  few  minutes.  "  Oh,  just  God,  only  long 
enough  for  me  to  ask  him  why,  why  he  has  done 
this  thing  to  me — only  long  enough  to  let  me  press 
his  hand,  only  that !     Oh,  have  mercy  !  " 

The  forester's  wife  was  standing  on  the  threshold  ; 
she  moved  aside  for  the  pale  young  wife.  "  He 
is  unconscious,"  she  whispered,  stooping  to  pick  up 
the  fur  cloak  which  had  slipped  from  Antje's  shoul- 
ders ;  then  she  shut  the  door  behind  her.  She  only 
saw  how  the  wife  went  up  to  the  bed  on  which  the 
wounded  man  was  laid,  with  her  hands  clasped. 
Then  she  stood  outside  in  the  little  entry,  which 
had  for  a  ceiling  the  open  roof  with  its  rafters.  The 
house  was  still  as  death  ;  they  were  waiting  for  the 
doctor,  who  was  making  his  preparations  below. 
This  waiting  seemed  like  an  eternity  to  her,  and 
yet  it  was  scarcely  a  minute  before  Maiberg  and  the 
forester  came  up  the  stairs,  bringing  with  them  all 
that  was  necessary  to  bind  up  the  severe  wound. 

Antje  gave  her  aid  during  the  examination,  like 
an  experienced  nurse.  From  time  to  time  she 
looked  at  Maiberg  as  if  to  read  in  his  face  the  an- 
swer to  her  mute  questionings — death  or  life  ? 

"  Tell  me  frankly,  is  it  very  bad  ?  "  she  whispered 
at  length,  staring  at  the  blood-soaked  pillow. 

"  He  came  near  bleeding  to  death,  and  that  is 
the  most  serious  part  of  it,"  he  replied.     "  The  ball 


312  Misjudged. 


went  through  the  breast,  but  it  came  out  at  the  back, 
and  that  is  not  unfavorable,  and,  besides,  he  has  an 
excellent  constitution.  It  is  all  in  God's  hand,  Frau 
Antje." 

And  Antje  silently  assented.  She  knew  very  well 
that  he  was  nearer  death  than  life.  And  she  helped 
to  place  the  unconscious  man  back  in  the  bed  after 
the  wound  had  been  bound -up. 

"  Can  he  be  moved  ?  "  she  inquired. 

"  If  is  not  to  be  thought  of,"  was  the  reply. 

Antje  seated  herself  quietly  in  the  old  arm-chair 
covered  with  blue  and  red  checked  linen  at  the  foot 
of  the  bed. 

"Order  everything  you  need,  Herr  Doctor,"  she 
said.  "  There  are  ice-bags  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing  at  the  house,  and  the  carriage  can  bring  them 
all  up." 

He  offered  to  watch,  but  she  declined.  "  That 
is  my  office." 

She  hardly  knew  when  he  went  away.  She  looked 
dreamily  about  the  tiny  room  ;  then  her  eyes  fell 
on  a  letter  which  lay  on  the  commode  under  the 
flower-vase.  She  could  reach  it  without  leaving  her 
chair. 

"  To  my  wife,"  she  read.  This  bit  of  paper  was 
folded  round  a  letter  and  a  telegram. 

She  read  by  the  light  of  the  dying  lamp  the  an- 
nouncement of  the  banker,  the  refusal  of  the  pic- 
ture, and  she  dropped  the  letters  and  turned  toward 
the  unconscious  man.  "  That  was  why  you  did  it," 
she  said.     "  Was  it  for  that  ?  " 

But  he  lay  there,  breathing  with  difficulty,  and 
could  not  answer,  could  not  even  hear. 


Misjudged. 


313 


"  Oh,  if  you  had  only  had  confidence  in  me,  if 
you  only  had  ! "  she  wailed,  and  caught  at  his  hand, 
which  lay  on  the  coverlid  tightly  closed.  And  then 
she  started  back,  for  between  the  waxen-white  fin- 
gers peeped  out  the  end  of  a  red  ribbon,  and  when 
she  had  carefully  disengaged  it,  it  proved  to  be  a 
little  red  bow,  a  bow  that  she  knew,  ah,  so  well ! 

"  That  was  why !  "  she  said,  aloud.  "  Ah,  yes  : 
I  had  forgotten  that.     That  was  why  !  " 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

Many  anxious  days  followed,  during  which  tht 
red-haired  Frau  Dorchen  sat  watching  on  the 
stairs,  hushing  the  dogs  into  silence  and  bidding  the 
maids  walk  softly,  for  the  gentleman  upstairs  was 
dying. 

"  Husband,  he  will  certamly  die  this  evening ;  he 
cannot  more  than  live  through  this  day.  No  one 
could  go  through  so  much,"  she  would  whisper  to 
the  forester,  and  the  tear-dimmed  eyes,  which  were 
of  the  color  of  reddish-brown  velvet,  looked  shyly 
up  at  the  window  of  the  sick-room.  **  You  will  see^ 
Wilhelm,  when  you  come  back  from  your  snipe- 
shooting,  it  will  be  all  over.  I  heard  a  screech-owl 
hoot  last  night,  and  that  has  never  happened  up 
here  before  in  all  my  life." 

'*  Dora,  you  have  always  sicpt  so  soundly." 

"  Oh,  Wilhelm,  it  is  not  that.  I  am  sure  he  is 
going  to  die." 

"  I  am  almost  sure  of  it,  too,  Dora." 

"  His  poor  wife,  Wilhelm  !  She  looks  perfectly 
wretched,  and  she  hasn't  slept  an  hour  for  a  whole 
fortnight.  She  will  hardly  let  me  take  her  place  by 
his  bedside  for  a  few  minutes,  even  by  day." 

"  Ah,  yes — h'm.  God  gives  extra  strength  to  you 
women,  so  you  do  not  feel  any  weariness  from  that 
sort  of  thing.     You  would  have  had  to  put  me  un- 


Misjudged.  3^5 


derground  long  ago,  Dora,  if  J  had  gone  a  fortnight 
without  sleep,  and  yet  she  is  a  delicate  woman.  But 
she  never  utters  a  complaint  or  makes  any  use- 
less moans.  You  might  learn  something  from  her, 
Dora." 

And  her  husband  walked  out  into  the  dim  spring 
woods,  his  dog  following  at  his  heels,  and  his  young 
wife  stood  on  the  stone  steps  before  the  door  and 
looked  after  him.  "Ah,  I  only  begin  to  realize  how 
I  love  you  when  I  think  of  that  poor  man  upstairs," 
she  murmured,  and  vowed  to  herself  by  all  she  held 
sacred  never  to  vex  Wilhelm  again ;  and  then  she 
blushed,  for.  he  never  was  vexed  except  when  she 
chattered  too  much  and  coquetted  with  the  artists 
who  haunted  the  little  forest-house.  She  cast  a 
glance  up  at  the  gable  windows,  which  stood  wide 
open  to  let  in  the  air,  which  was  soft  and  moist  and 
spring-like,  as  one  seldom  finds  it  in  the  mountains 
at  that  season  of  the  year. 

It  was  the  nineteenth  of  April ;  the  beeches  were 
growing  feathery,  and  the  buds  might  burst  open  any 
day  now.  It  was  already  green  in  the  valleys,  the 
manor-house  of  "  Gottessegen  "  was  already  sur- 
rounded by  the  light  emerald  green  of  spring,  and 
the  violets  were  blooming  along  the  garden  wall  in 
great  masses.  The  doctor  had  said  so  yesterday. 
He  had  been  down  at  the  house  and  had  brought 
up  a  great  bunch  of  them  for  Frau  Antje,  and  the 
whole  room  smelt  like  a  bank  of  violets. 

The  Frau  Forsterin  glanced  up  again.  There 
stood  Antje  by  the  window,  pale  and  exhausted, 
looking  out  into  the  fragrant  world  outside  with 
sad  eyes. 


3i6  Misjudged. 


"  Frau  Jussnitz,  Frau  Jussnitz,  it  is  si^ch  a  lovely 
evening.  Do  go  and  take  a  little  walk,  and  I  will  take 
your  place  upstairs,"  cried  Dorchen,  in  a  whisper. 

But  Antje  shook  her  head  and  turned  back  into 
the  room. 

"  She  will  kill  herself,  I  am  sure,"  said  Frau  Dor* 
chen.  "  But,  good  Heavens,  what  will  you  have  ? 
He  is  her  husband." 

And  then  she  seated  herself  on  the  threshold  and 
began  to  knit  on  a  huge  greenish-gray  stocking  for 
Wilhelm. 

Upstairs,  Antje  was  sitting  in  her  arm-chair 
again.  The  sick  man  was  sleeping  for  the  first 
time  a  quiet  sleep,  without  the  constant  moans  and 
the  panting  breath  that  had  hitherto  disturbed  him. 
Antje  had  wiped  his  damp  forehead,  and  her  hands 
now  lay  lightly  clasped  in  her  lap  ;  her  eyes  were  shut, 
an  intolerable  weariness  had  overpowered  her.  She 
started  up  once  or  twice,  and  then  her  weary  eyes 
closed  again  and  her  head  fell  over  against  the  back 
of  the  chair,  and  she  slept.  Everything  was  silent 
as  death  ;  only  the  cry  of  a  starling  flying  to  her  nest 
broke  the  profound  stillness.  The  twilight  was  just 
tinged  with  a  faint  rosy  gleam,  which  had  a  wonder- 
ful effect  in  beautifying  the  poor  little  room. 

The  sick  man  stirred  ;  he  opened  hi.s  eyes  and 
closed  them  again,  till  at  length  he  opened  them 
wide,  looking  about  him  with  the  first  gleam  of  recov- 
ered consciousness.  He  gazed  around  the  room  in 
surprise,  but  presently  the  slightly  raised  head  sank 
back  upon  the  pillows  with  a  low  moan.  Still  his 
eyes  remained  fixed  upon  the  figure  in  the  arm-chair. 
She  was  still  sound  asleep.     He  gazed  at  her  as  if 


Misjudged.  317 


to  impress  upon  his  mind  that  it  was  really  this 
slender,  dark  figure  that  had  been  watching  him. 
nursing  him,  and  caring  for  him  during  these  lasi 
miserable  days. 

Antje  ?  Was  it  really  she  ?  No  ;  the  Antje  whom 
he  knew  was  a  beautiful,  blooming  woman,  and  this 
face  leaning  against  the  cushion  had  grown  years 
older  through  grief  and  anxiety,  and  the  firmly  com- 
pressed lips  wore  an  expression  of  pain,  and  the  red- 
dened eyes  looked  as  if  they  had  shed  an  abundance 
of  tears. 

The  remembrance  of  everything  suddenly  re- 
turned, and  with  it  anger  and  anguish  inexpressi- 
ble— that  he  should  be  alive.  Why  did  people  rush 
in  to  rob  death  of  his  prey,  to  bring  him  back  to  a 
hated  existence  by  all  the  appliances  of  science  ? 
Good  God !  who  gives  them  the  right  to  force  an 
unhappy  man  to  prolong  his  existence  ?  He  could 
not,  he  must  not  live  ! 

He  made  a  movement  with  his  left  hand,  and  a 
slight  cry  of  pain  escaped  him. 

She  started  up  out  of  her  slumber,  and  the  next 
moment  she  was  bending  over  him.  He  could  feel 
her  anxious  look  through  his  closed  lids  ;  he  could 
feel  her  soft,  cool  fingers  laid  gently  on  his  fore- 
head, to  discover  whether  the  horrible  fever  was 
still  torturing  him. 

He  lay  quiet  again,  as  if  sleeping ;  he  had  not 
the  courage  to  open  his  eyes. 

She  left  him  and  went  to  the  window.  "  Frau 
Dora,"  he  heard  her  say,  softly,  "  do  you  know 
when  the  doctor  is  coming  back  ?  I  quite  forgot 
to  ask  to-day." 


31 S  Misjudged. 


**  He  will  be  sure  to  be  punctual ;  it  would  be 
the  first  time  that  he  failed  if  he  does  not,  Frau 
jussnitz.  It  still  wants  eight  minutes  to  seven — 
and  there  he  is  now  !  "  she  exclaimed. 

"  Thank  God  !  "  murmured  Antje. 

This  exclamation  seemed  to  the  sick  man  like  a 
sharp  iron  turned  suddenly  in  his  wound.  He  felt 
the  blood  mounting  to  his  head  ;  the  old  angry 
feeling  seized  upon  him,  as  it  had  always  done 
when  Maiberg  hovered  about  Antje.  He  groaned 
again,  and  as  he  heard  the  greeting  between  the  Frau 
Forsterin  and  his  friend,  and  saw  Antje  creep  out 
of  the  room  on  tip-toe  to  meet  him,  he  gazed  at  her 
with  black  looks  on  her  return. 

But  the  doctor  perceived  at  once  that  his  con- 
sciousness had  returned  ;  he  came  up  to  the  bed 
and  said,  in  a  loud,  hearty  tone  :  "  Well,  thank 
God,  Leo,  we  have  got  you  back  again.  It  is  high 
time,  I  must  say,  old  fellow !  " 

Antje  was  standing  at  the  foot  of  the  bed.  She 
stood  there  as  if  carved  out  of  stone,  her  head 
slightly  thrown  back,  with  a  sad,  weary  expression 
in  her  face. 

"  Do  you  want  anything  just  now,  Leo  ?  "  she  in- 
quired, in  a  low  tone. 

"  No,"  he  replied. 

"  I  shall  be  downstairs,  in  the  sitting-room,  in 
case  you  want  me,"  she  said,  and  left  the  room. 

"  Maiberg,  is  that  all  your  science  can  do,  to  pro- 
long for  a  little  the  life  that  a  man  would  gladly 
iting  away  ?  "  cried  Leo,  with  a  great  efifort. 

"  A  little  ?  I  hope  for  a  long  time — if  you  will 
be  reasonable,  my  friend." 


Misjudged.  2±g 


"  I  can  not  live  under  these  circumstances. " 

"  What  circumstances  ?  " 

"  Good  Heavens  !  you  know  very  well " 

"That  is  to  say,  Leo,  you  cannot  live  without 
your  wife" 

The  sick  man's  face  flushed  crimson.  "  Don't 
treat  me  as  if  I  were  a  silly  boy.  She  has  com- 
plained to  you,  no  doubt,  why  I — took  to  the  re- 
volver  " 

"  Upon  my  honor,  Leo,  I  do  not  understand  one 
word  you  are  saying." 

"  Antje  has  *old  you  nothing  ?  " 
;     "No." 

Leo  shut  his  eyes  and  lay  still.  "Then  you 
must  have  found  out  some  other  way  that  I " 

"  I  know  literally  nothing.  I  have  only  had  my 
suspicions.     But — you  must  not  agitate  yourself." 

"  What  did  you  suspect  ?  "  inquired  Leo,  faintly. 
"  Tell  me,  I  beg  of  you."       % 

"  Your  foolish  passion  for  Hilda " 

He  was  interrupted  by  a  low,  scornful  laugh. 

"  Was  it  not  so,  Leo  ?  Tell  me  the  truth — or, 
rather,  say  nothing  about  it,  for  it  is  no  longer  of 
importance." 

"  A  man  does  not  put  an  end  to  his  life  for  the 
sake  of  a  woman's  whim — at  least,  not  a  man  like 
me"  replied  the  sick  man.  "There  must  be  worse 
things  than  that  to  bear ;  one  must  first  see  all 
one's  hopes  utterly  destroyed  before — but  you  can 
get  Antje  to  tell  you." 

"  If  she  wished  to  confide  in  me,  she  would  have 
done  it  long  ago.  I  will  give  you  a  piece  of  good 
advice — go  to  sleep." 


320  Misjudged. 


"  Rather  give  me  your  promise  to  set  me  on  my 
feet  again  ;  to  make  me  tolerably  strong,  so  I  can 
chop  wood  or  do  something  of  that  sort.  Every 
one  does  not  make  a  good  beggar,  and  there  is  no 
hope  of  anything  better." 

"You  will  be  quite  well  again,  if  you  are  only 
reasonable." 

"  Please  tell  my  wife  that  she  need  not  trouble 
herself  about  me  any  more  ;  she  must  be  neglecting 
more  important  duties." 

"You  foolish  fellow,  are  you  still  as  blind  as 
ever  with  regard  to  your  wife  ? "  Maiberg  wanted 
to  say,  but  he  restrained  himself,  for  Leo  was  still 
very  ill.  He  only  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  went 
to  the  window ;  he  was  vexed  already  with  himself 
for  having  spoken  more  vehemently  than  was  pru- 
dent. 

Below,  the  superintendent  of  the  works  was  walk- 
ing up  and  down  with  Antje,  in  earnest  conversa- 
tion. The  old  man  came  up  conscientiously  every 
other  day,  to  make  his  report  with  regard  to  th& 
business.  They  usually  sat,  on  such  occasions,  at 
the  oilcloth-covered  table  in  the  parlor,  with  the 
forester's  leaden  ink-stand  between  them,  and 
**  managed  the  business,"  as  the  old  man  called 
it. 

To-day  they  were  settling  their  affairs  as  they 
walked  up  and  down.  The  superintendent  seemed 
very  eager ;  he  would  stop  short  every  little  while, 
and  accompanied  his  words  with  lively  gestures. 
Antje  listened  with  bent  head,  and  when  she  spoke 
It  was  only  to  utter  a  few  words. 

Maiberg  turned  round.      "  Go  to  sleep,"  he  said 


Misjudged.  321 


to  Leo  again,  "  and  don't  worry.  I  have  something 
to  do  downstairs." 

His  patient  said  nothing,  but  he  smiled  bitterly. 
Then  he  could  hear  his  friend's  voice  outside,  and 
a  loud  cry  uttered  by  Dora — it  sounded  like  a  cry 
of  joy.  A  moment  later  she  tripped  into  the 
room. 

"  Oh,  I  only  wanted  to  say  how  glad  I  am  that 
you  have  recovered  your  consciousness,"  she  whis- 
pered. "  Good  gracious,  it  would  have  been  horrid 
if  you  had  died  now,  just  now,  when  everything  is  so 
green  and  life  is  so  pleasant.  Herr  Jussnitz,  how 
could  you  ?  Good  Heavens,  if  you  could  have  seen 
your  wife's  misery,  your  heart  would  have  ached  for 
her  !  She  did  not  weep  or  wail,  to  be  sure,  but  she 
clasped  her  hands  when  she  came  up  to  your  bed 
and  saw  you  lying  there  looking  so  dreadful,  and 
she  looked  like  the  Virgin  in  the  Oberrode  church, 
before  the  cross — exactly  like  that,  and  she  has 
been  on  her  feet  day  and  night.  But  you  see,  peo- 
ple can  only  do  that  sort  of  thing  out  of  real,  true 
love,  Herr  Jussnitz  !  " 

"  Be  silent !  "  he  cried  harshly,  interrupting  the 
poor  woman's  chatter. 

She  stared  at  him  in  startled  amazement,  re- 
mained standing  for  a  few  moments,  and  then  crept 
softly  out  of  the  room.  "  He  is  very  far  from  well 
yet,"  she  thought  to  herself,  as  she  descended  the 
stairs. 

And  the  sick  man  was  left  alone.  The  darkness 
came  on  gradually,  and  the  cool  breeze  from  the 
forest  fanned  his  burning  forehead.  A  dog's  bark 
pccasionally  broke  the  stillness,  or  the  rattling  of  a 


322  Misjudged. 


chain  which  fastened  the  cow  in  the  stall,  but  other- 
wise the  house  seemed  deserted. 

They  were  probably  sitting  in  the  parlor  talking 
together,  or  Antje  had  walked  a  little  way  with 
Maiberg  in  the  pleasant  spring  evening.  He  could 
see  them  in  his  mind's  eye  ;  they  were  walking  close 
together,  the  two  figures,  without  speaking — for 
what  need  had  they  for  words  ?  There  was  nothing 
to  say  now — nor  would  thei"e  be  for  long — for  he 
still  lived.  And  suddenly  he  was  seized  with  a  fierce 
desire  to  see  what  his  wife  was  doing  now,  his  wife 
who  could  suffer  like  our  Lady  of  Sorrows,  and — 
yet  carried  herself  as  proudly  as  a  queen. 

What  did  she  want  of  him  now  ?  Why  did  she 
not  leave  the  wretch  where  he  had  fallen  ?  He 
would  not  have  her  compassion,  he  would  not  endure 
her  generosity  ;  he  hated  her  at  this  moment  as  he 
had  formerly  done,  when  he  had  called  her  his 
chain. 

Hark  !  did  not  the  stairs  creak  ?  Some  one  came 
softly  in  at  the  door.  It  was  she.  In  one  hand  she 
carried  a  night-lamp,  carefully  shading  it  with  the 
other  so  the  light  would  not  shine  in  his  eyes.  She 
went  up  to  the  bureau,  placed  the  lamp  so  that  he 
could  not  see  the  light ;  then  she  crossed  the  room 
and  bent  down  over  him,  believing  him  to  be  asleep. 
She  stood  so  for  a  moment,  then  she  shut  the  win- 
dow, all  but  one  little  pane,  and  finally  seated  her- 
self by  the  dim  light  on  the  bureau,  took  out  a 
note-book,  and  began  to  write. 

He  could  observe  her  closely,  and  he  did  so  with 
a  longing  he  had  never  felt  before,  to  discover 
something  in  her  manner  at  which  he  could  take 


M'yudged.  323 


offence,  that  would  give  him  the  right  to  get  rid  of 
her.  Now  and  then  she  looked  up  and  passed  her 
hand  across  her  forehead,  and  her  eyes  had  an 
anxious,  frightened  look,  and  then  she  went  on 
with  her  accounts.  Once  or  twice  she  gave  a  deep 
sigh ;  at  length  she  laid  aside  her  pencil,  and  care- 
fully and  noiselessly  drew  out  the  straw  mattress 
from  behind  the  little  stove,  spread  it  out  beside  his 
bed,  took  some  blankets  and  pillows  from  a  chair, 
and  prepared  to  hold  her  night-watch. 

After  a  while  he  drew  himself  up  and  looked  down 
at  her  ;  her  weariness  had  overpowered  her,  and  she 
was  apparently  sleeping  soundly  and  quietly.  He 
could  not  sleep,  but  kept  looking  at  her  again  and 
again  till  the  gray  dawn.  At  last  he,  too,  was  over- 
come by  weariness  and  slept. 

When  he  awoke  the  sun  was  shining  into  the 
room,  and  the  dancing  shadows  of  budding  branches 
were  playing  on  the  ceiling  and  the  floor  of  the 
room,  and  also  on  the  vacant  space  where  Antje 
had  slept. 

He  caught  at  the  strong  rope,  with  a  hare's  foot 
for  a  handle,  which  served  as  a  bell-rope,  and  pulled 
it  violently. 

"  Halloo  !  "  cried  the  doctor  in  the  door-way, 
**  that  sounds  energetic  !  What  will  you  have  ?  Your 
breakfast  ?    Frau  Dora  will  bring  it  immediately." 

He  wanted  to  ask  for  Antje,  but  he  could  not 
bring  himself  to  do  so.  He  only  looked  about  the 
room  as  if  he  missed  something. 

"She  was  up  and  away  early  this  morning,"  said 
the  young  forester's  wife,  who  had  just  come  in  and 
quickly  divined  what  he  '*««5ted.     **  It  is  high  time 


324  Misjudged. 


she  was  looking  after  her  child  and  her  house. 
Heaven  knows  she  doesn't  have  a  very  easy  time  of 
it  if  she  is  rich." 

He  bit  his  lip  ;  had  she  gone  because  she  knew 
that  he  no  longer  needed  her  ? 

They  were  strange  days  which  followed,  days 
divided  between  anger  with  her  for  leaving  him, 
and  self-reproach,  and  longing  to  see  her.  He  lis- 
tened with  all  his  ears  for  the  rolling  of  wheels,  for 
the  snapping  of  a  whip,  in  the  direction  of  the 
woodland  road ;  he  started  when  the  old  stairs 
creaked  under  a  light  footstep,  and  turned  pale 
when  he  saw  that  it  was  only  Frau  Dorchen.  He 
derided  himself  for  it,  and  when  in  the  evening  the 
twilight  came  on,  and  Maiberg  put  down  the  book 
which  he  had  been  reading  aloud,  and  left  him  to 
get  a  little  fresh  air,  when  it  was  so  still  all  about  him 
that  he  could  hear  the  gnawing  of  the  wood-moths 
in  the  old  beams,  and  the  clatter  of  a  mouse  under 
the  boards,  then  he  put  his  hand  over  his  eyes  and 
set  his  teeth  hard,  and  something  that  he  had  not 
felt  since  he  was  a  boy  trickled  down  from  his 
burning  eyes  over  his  cheeks.  But  then  he  angrily 
brushed  away  the  tears  and  called  himself  a  sick, 
sentimental  fool  ;  and  when  the  doctor  came  back 
and  began  to  chat  pleasantly,  he  returned  only 
rough  and  biting  answers.  He  never  inquired  for 
Antje. 

And  she  did  not  come  back. 

The  days  wore  away  ;  Leo's  youthful  vigor  slowly 
gained  the  mastery.  He  was  soon  able  to  sit  out-of- 
doors,  or  to  walk  a  little  way  into  the  forest,  leaning 
on  Maiberg's  arm. 


Misjudged.  325 


"  This  air  seems  just  made  for  you,  Leo,"  said  his 
friend  ;  '*  and  these  are  delightful  days  that  we  are 
idling  away  like  this.  Heaven  knows  whether  we 
shall  have  such  pleasant  ones  again — quiet,  peace, 
the  freshness  of  the  woods.  I  am  enjoying  mysel- 
as  I  have  not  done  for  a  long  time." 

The  doctor  snatched  off  his  hat  as  he  spoke,  and 
looked  through  the  bower  of  beeches  in  their  spring 
green,  and  his  usually  rather  grave  face  wore  an  ex- 
pression of  quiet  happiness. 

"I  think  you  are  going  to  have  some  visitors, 
Leo,"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  turned  round.  "  Look, 
look,  there  are  the  brown  horses  from  the  iron- 
works, and  that  little  white  cloud  sitting  in  the 
carriage  is  your  little  daughter,  accompanied  by  the 
very  worthy  Frau  Classen." 

And  so  it  proved.  A  dainty  little  girl  came  trip- 
ping toward  the  two  gentlemen,  holding  the  hand 
of  the  old  woman,  who  had  decked  herself  in  holi- 
day attire,  in  her  native  Dutch  cap,  with  the  great 
earrings. 

The  child  carried  a  great  bunch  of  flowers  in  her 
tiny  hand.  She  held  it  out  to  her  father,  saying ; 
"  Here,  papa  !  "  and  the  rosy,  childish  face,  like  a 
fresh  little  rosebud  itself,  peeped  out  from  under 
the  little  hat. 

Maiberg  set  up  the  camp-chair  for  Leo  under  a 
great  beech-tree,  and  strolled  on.  He  could  see  Leo 
still  thoughtfully  holding  the  child's  hand  in  his, 
while  Classen  seated  herself  on  the  grass  and  brought 
out  her  knitting-work. 

"It  is  very  fine  weather,"  said  the  old  woman  at 
length,  breaking  the  silence,  "  and  it  is  so  splendid 


3z6  Misju.'ged. 

up  hfc/e  in  the  woods,  and  I  am  glad  enough  to  be 
home  again  among  the  mountains." 

He  nodded  absently. 

"  The  air  wasn't  healthy  in  that  old  Sibyllenburg, 
sir  ;  it  didn't  agree  with  any  of  us,"  she  continued, 
beginning  a  new  needle.  "  Leonie,  there  is  a  pine- 
cone  ;  run  and  get  it  !  We  have  to  play  with  her  a 
little,  sir,"  she  reminded  him ;  "  she  is  used  to  it 
with  Fraulein  Hilda." 

"  Ah,  yes  !    Is  the  Fraulein  still  there  ?  " 

**  Yes,  she  is  still  staying  with  us,  sir,  and  it  doesn't 
look  now  as  though  she  was  likely  to  go." 

"  When  did  you  come  from  Sibyllenburg  ? "  he 
inquired,  looking  after  the  child,  who  was  dancing 
about  on  the  grass-grown  path. 

"  Oh,  a  few  days  ago,  just  after  it  was  sold." 

He  started  up.  "  Sold  ?  "  But  what  business 
was  it  of  his  ? 

"  The  gracious  lady  was  there  herself  with  the 
judge,  and  picked  out  all  the  things  which  were  to 
be  kept.  Oh,  my  senses  !  She  looked  just  like  a 
ghost  when  she  signed  the  papers,  though  I  couldn't 
help  feeling  glad,  for  it  was  an  unlucky  sort  of  a 
place,  that  old  house." 

"  Who  bought  it  ? "  was  on  the  tip  of  his  tongue, 
but  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  say  it.  It  was 
all  the  same  to  him  ;  he  no  longer  owned  a  single 
stone  of  it. 

At  this  moment  Classen  spied  the  Frau  Forsterin^ 
who  was  beckoning  to  her  from  the  house,  and  she 
charged  the  little  one  to  be  good.  At  any  rate 
th'«re  was  a  good  cup  of  coffee  in  store  for  her. 

''iMi  pale  man  and  ttte  rosy  child  were  left  alone 


Misjudged.  327 


together  ;  the  child  had  come  back  to  him  and  sat 
playing  quietly  at  his  feet,  smiling  up  at  him  now 
and  then  with  a  pair  of  clear,  wonderfully  deep 
greenish  eyes.  He  watched  her  as  he  would  a 
flower  which  had  blossomed  in  a  night,  with  amaze- 
ment and  admiration.  He  hardly  knew  his  child, 
and  perceived  now  for  the  first  time  how  wonder- 
fully pretty  she  was. 

At  length  she  stood  up.  "Come  with  me  to 
mamma,"  she  said,  taking  him  eoaxingly  by  the 
hand. 

He  flushed  beneath  the  eyes  of  this  little  creature. 

**  To  mamma  ! "  she  repeated,  and  puckered  up 
her  mouth  to  cry.  And  as  he  still  remained  seated 
without  moving,  she  began  to  cry  in  good  earnest, 
and  this  note  of  alarm  brought  Classen  and  the  for- 
ester's wife  running  up  at  the  same  moment. 

"  Oh,  you  naughty  child !  "  scolded  the  Frau 
Forsterin,  carrying  the  sobbing  little  one  away  to 
show  her  the  "  mooly  cow,"  but  Classen  stayed 
behind. 

"Little  impetuous  thing!"  she  said;  "but  she 
gets  that  from  you,  sir." 

And  then  she  began  to  enumerate  some  of  her 
characteristics  in  which  she  resembled  her  father, 
and  wound  up  by  saying  :  "  But  we  don't  give  in  to 
Jier  ;  she  has  to  mind." 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 


When  the  little  one  drove  away  with  the  old 
woman,  quite  comforted  again,  Leo  went  back  into 
the  house  and  seated  himself,  as  he  used  often  to  do, 
by  the  window  of  Frau  Dora's  exquisitely  neat  par- 
lor. But  here  he  was  even  less  able  to  concentrate 
his  thoughts,  for  the  young  Forsterin  thought  it  her 
duty  to  entertain  the  gloomy  man,  and  she  had  a 
whole  budget  of  news  from  the  iron-works.  Frau 
Jussnitz  had  laid  the  corner-stone  for  the  new 
schoolhouse  yesterday,  and  the  little  one  had  to 
give  the  first  stroke  with  the  hammer.  And  then 
she  and  Herr  Ferdinand  Frey  together  had  bought 
the  "  Gunderode "  iron-works,  and  they  were 
building  a  furnace  in  common.  Who  would  ever 
have  thought  it  of  the  quiet,  pale  woman  !  Herr 
Kortmer  said  the  old  lady  had  been  capable  enough, 
but  this  one  went  far  ahead  of  her,  for  the  late 
Frau  Bergrath  was  a  little  afraid  of  new  enterprises. 

''  I  am  sure  you  will  be  surprised,"  she  concluded, 
"when  you  go  down  again.  And  when  are  you  go- 
ing back  ?  Heaven  forbid  that  I  should  wish  you 
to  go,  but  I  am  sure  you  must  find  it  frightfully  dull 
here.  To-morrow  morning  the  Herr  Doctor  is  go- 
ing foK-hunting  with  Wilhelm.  Then  you  will  be 
left  alone  here  again.     But  what  do  you  say  ?     Up- 


Misjudged.  329 


stairs  in  the  attic  are  all  your  old  painting-things 
— even  the  umbrella  is  there.  You  ought  to  paint, 
Herr  Jussnitz,  you  ought  to  paint !  " 

And  the  agile  little  woman  hurried  away  to  look 
for  the  things,  to  the  great  relief  of  the  man  she 
left  behind.  He  stood  up,  and  walked  up  and  down 
the  room  till,  lost  in  thought,  he  stopped  at  length 
before  the  Frau  Forsterin's  glass  cupboard,  in  which 
stood  out  against  a  bright  blue  background  bril- 
liant cups,  cake-plates,  her  bridal  wreath,  wax  an- 
gels, flower-vases,  and  a  variety  of  things  of  a  sim- 
ilar nature.  His  eyes  rested  absently  on  these 
splendors,  until  they  were  caught  by  a  little  object 
at  which  he  looked  long  and  thoughtfully.  It  was 
a  woman's  head  modelled  in  clay,  representing  in 
a  life-like  manner  the  saucy  nose,  the  full  lips,  and 
the  wavy  masses  of  hair  of  the  young  Forsterin — 
a  portrait  bust  which  could  not  have  been  better. 

He  was  still  looking  at  it  when  Frau  Dorchen 
came  back, 

"  It  is  all  arranged  in  your  room  upstairs,  Herr 
Jussnitz,  as  if  you  had  only  just  left  it,"  she  cried 
gayly.  But  he  did  not  even  say,  "  Thank  you." 
He  pointed  to  the  little  bust  and  said  :  **  It  has 
kept  pretty  well,  that  little  thing." 

She  had  come  nearer,  and  she  laughed.  "  Yes  ; 
did  you  think  I  was  going  to  throw  that  beautiful 
piece  of  work  out  of  the  window,  as  you  want«d  me 
to  do,  Herr  Jussnitz  ?  Heaven  forbid  !  Lots  of 
people  have  admired  it  and  said  it  looked  exactly 
like  me.  I  shall  save  this  up  for  my  old  age,  to 
let  people  see  that  I  was  once  young  and  pretty. 
And  " — she    stopped  suddenly  and   looked  at  the 


S3°  Misjudged, 


painter,  who  could  not  take  his  eyes  off  the  little 
clay  head. 

"  Herr  Jussnitz,"  she  burst  out  at  length,  as  if 
a  bright  idea  had  just  struck  her — "  Herr  Jussnitz, 
there  is  plenty  of  clay  out  there  still.  Wouldn't  you 
like — ah,  don't  be  angry  ;  I  know  it  is  very  imper- 
tinent of  me — but  if  you  would  make  me  my  old 
man  as  a  companion-piece  !  "  And  as  he  did  not 
answer,  she  entreated  :  "  Dear  Herr  Jussnitz,  do, 
and  make  it  as  fine  and  as  like  as  you  have  made 
mine.     Please,  Herr  Jussnitz  !  " 

He  shook  his  head  and  looked  at  her  ;  but  when 
he  saw  the  entreaty  in  the  eyes  of  the  handsome 
little  woman,  a  fleeting  smile  passed  over  his  face. 

"  Oh,  well,  if  you  like,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice. 

And  Frau  Dora  ran  off  to  prepare  the  clay,  as  if 
he  were  going  to  begin  that  very  instant. 

He  went  upstairs  to  his  room,  sat  down  by  the 
window,  and  watched  the  moon  rise  over  the  trees. 
Maiberg  did  not  come  in  until  late,  and  found  him 
still  sitting  there. 

"  Have  you  been  to  the  iron-works  ?  "  inquired 
Leo. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Maiberg,  drawing  up  a  chair. 

"  I  believe  I  can't  stand  it  here  any  longer," 
continued  Jussnitz.  "Tell  me,  when  shall  I  be 
well  enough  to — to " 

"  Soon,"  was  the  laconic  reply. 

Jussnitz  got  up  suddenly  ;  he  felt  as  if  he  should 
stifle  in  this  close  little  room. 

"  Maiberg  !  "  He  stopped  in  front  of  the  doc- 
tor, who  was  looking  out  into  the  moonlight  with 
deep,  thoughtful  eyes. 


Misjudged.     '  331 


"  What  is  it,  Leo  ?  " 

The  painter's  arras  hung  down  loosely  by  his 
side  ;  he  leaned  against  the  table  and  dropped  his 
eyes.  "  Even  if  I  wished  it,  I  cannot  undertake 
anything  now — without  any  money,"  he  said. 

"  You  have  a  claim  on  part  of  Antje's  property ; 
the  judge  was  explaining  it  to  me  the  other  day," 
said  Maiberg. 

Leo  stood  before  his  friend  with  clenched  fists. 

"  Wolf,  do  you  suppose  I  would  take  a  penny  of 
it?" 

"  I  would  not,"  was  the  reply.  "  I  should  rather 
borrow  something." 

Leo  laughed  aloud.  "  I  don't  know  a  soul  in 
the  world  who  would  be  willing  to  risk  lending  it 
to  me." 

"Not  one?" 

"  Not  one  !  " 

"  H'm !  I  know  of  one,  Leo.  It  is  not  very 
much,  to  be  sure,  but  if  a  few  thousand  marks 
would  be  enough  for  you  to  begin  on " 

"  You  ?  "  His  voice  was  full  of  scorn.  "  Does 
your  happiness  make  you  so  extravagant  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  so,  Leo.  I  beg  of  you  to  take  the  few 
poor  notes  ;  I  do  not  need  them  at  present,  and  they 
will  be  useful  to  you.  I  have  so  much  even  that  I 
could  manage  very  comfortably  to  make  a  little 
pleasure  tour  with  you." 

"  You  would  go  away  with  me — away  from 
here?" 

"Certainly." 

"  But  I  am  not  going  on  a  pleasure  trip." 

"  All  right !     But  take  the  money  !  '* 


332  Misjudged, 


"  I  thank  you,  Wolf.  Yes,  there  is  nothing  else 
J  can  do — hard  as  it  is  for  me." 

"  Why  should  it  be  hard  ?  " 

Leo  made  no  reply.  He  was  standing  in  the 
shadow,  looking  at  the  smiling  face  of  his  friend, 
which  was  lighted  up  by  a  curious,  soft  radiance 
as  his  clear,  shrewd  eyes  gazed  out  with  an  unusual 
expression  of  longing  across  at  the  road  which  lost 
itself  among  the  dark  pine-trees,  by  which  he  drove 
down  the  valley  every  day  to  the  iron-works.  And 
Leo  felt  his  blood  boil  in  his  veins  ;  he  could  not 
look  any  longer  at  his  friend  in  his  happy  security 
with  this  expression  of  longing  on  his  radiant  face. 

"Please  leave  me  now,  Wolf,"  he  said,  rather 
hoarsely.     "  I  am  tired  to  death." 

The  doctor  rose  at  once. 

"  Good-night,  Leo.  And  do  not  trouble  yourself 
about  paying  me  back.     I  can  wait." 

Jussnitz  made  no  reply.  He  shut  the  window 
v*'lth  a  crash,  pulled  down  the  curtain,  and  threw 
himself,  dressed  as  he  was,  on  the  bed.  But  he 
could  see  nothing  before  him  but  that  moonlit  path 
which  led  down  to  the  Paradise  he  had  lost.  And 
he  had  to  cling  tight  to  the  bedstead  to  enable  him 
to  withstand  the  force  which  seemed  to  be  dragging 
him  toward  that  path. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

Down  in  the  valley,  in  the  great  house,  the  young 
wife  was  busy  from  morning  till  night.  She  gave 
her  whole  attention  to  the  thing  she  had  to  do,  as  if 
t'he  had  no  thought  for  anything  else  till  that  was 
accomplished.  She  never  countermanded  an  order, 
nor  was  the  slightest  vacillation  to  be  observed  in 
her  resolution.  She  gave  her  decision  in  business 
matters  clearly  and  decidedly,  and  she  was  equally 
clear  and  decided  in  her  housekeeping  and  in  regard 
to  the  training  of  her  child.  She  never  spoke  of  her 
husband.  It  might  have  been  supposed  that  she 
had  long  since  forgotten  the  man  whose  name  she 
bore,  or — had  never  loved  him.  The  kind  friends 
and  neighbors  who  had  heard  of  the  tragedy  in  the 
little  forest-house,  and  who  came  to  the  manor-house 
on  the  pretext  of  inquiring  for  Frau  Antje,  went 
home  again  with  their  curiosity  still  unsatisfied. 
Frau  Antje  received  them  with  perfect  friendliness, 
offered  them  excellent  coffee  and  cakes,  brought 
her  little  one  in  to  see  the  ladies,  talked  with  the 
gentlemen  about  the  new  machinery  and  the  fur- 
nace she  was  having  built,  and  to  all  their  inquiries 
for  Herr  Jussnitz's  health  replied  pleasantly  :  *'  Oh, 
thank  you,  he  is  very  well,"  in  a  way  that  cut  short 
any  further  researches  into   the   matter.     No  one 


334  Misjudged. 


knew  of  the  loss  of  her  fortune  except  Herr  Kort- 
mer,  and  he  took  it  as  much  to  heart  as  if  it  con- 
cerned his  own  property. 

Antje  kept  an  impenetrable  face  as  she  divulged 
this  disaster  to  him. 

"  If  painters  and  that  sort  of  people  would  only 
let  business  alone  !  "  bewailed  the  old  gentleman. 
"  Frau  Antje,  how  shall  we  ever  make  it  up  ?  " 

"  Oh,  we  will  be  economical,  we  will  be  economi- 
cal !  "  she  said,  comfortingly,  smiling  with  pale  lips. 
"  And  we  will  sell  Sibyllenburg — a  great  part  of  the 
money  is  in  Sibyllenburg,  Herr  Kortmer. " 

"  Ah,  who  will  eve/  give  a  penny  for  such  rubbish 
as  china  and  oli  brocade,  Frau  Jussnitz  ? "  burst  out 
the  old  man.  "  It  is  all  imitation,  no  doubt.  Who 
knows  how  often  he  was  cheated  when  he  bought 
the  things  ?  " 

"Kortmer,"  sh"»  said,  gravely,  "I  have  no  doubt 
that  you  are  ?«ttev  informed  in  business  matters 
than  Herr  Jussnitz,  but  in  artistic  matters  he  knows 
more  than  you." 

This  stopped  the  little  man's  complaints.  He 
said  no  more,  but  did  all  he  could  to  arrange  their 
affairs.  Sibyllenburg  was  sold,  and  after  all  the 
debts  were  paid,  there  was  a  small  amount  left. 
Antje  silently  set  this  aside,  in  case  she  should  yet 
receive  the  hardest  blow  of  all — Leo's  request  for 
money.  She  blushed  with  shame  at  the  thought. 
She  suffered  tortures  as  she  brooded  over  his  possi- 
ble future.  She  could  not  offer  him  aid  in  the  form 
of  money  under  the  present  circumstances  ;  it  would 
be  a  blow  to  his  sense  of  honor,  it  would  be  alms- 
giving, like  charity  to  a  beggar.     But  did  he  still 


Misjudged.  335 


possess  strength  enough  to  rouse  himself  bodily  and 
mentally,  and  make  his  own  way  ?  But  if  he  were 
still  capable  of  saving  himself,  of  retrieving  the  past, 
she  must  not  venture  to  show  herself  otherwise  than 
hard,  hard  as  a  rock. 

She  must  let  things  take  their  course,  and  stand 
quietly  by  to  see  if  he  were  capable  of  extricating 
himself  from  the  difficulties  into  which  he  had 
plunged.  No  one  knew  what  a  tumult  raged  within 
her.  Nothing  seemed  to  allay  it  but  the  remem- 
brance of  that  little  bow  which  his  hand  had 
clutched  in  what  he  thought  was  his  dying  moment ; 
but  then  she  was  even  more  wretched  than  before. 

Maiberg  never  talked  to  her  about  Leo,  when  he 
came  down  from  the  forest-house  to  drink  his  coffee 
with  Frau  Antje  in  the  garden  hall.  He  only  said 
at  such  times :  "  He  progresses  every  day,"  and  that 
was  enough  for  her. 

These  were  curious  afternoons  that  they  spent  in 
the  large,  comfortable  room  that  Antje  had  fitted 
up  according  to  her  own  taste.  There  was  not  a 
trace  of  aestheticism,  and  yet  how  really  comfort- 
able and  elegant  it  was  in  spite  of  the  mixture  of 
styles  !  From  the  dark  panelled  ceiling  hung  an 
antique  brass  chandelier,  which  had  probably  lighted 
up  the  banquets  of  the  former  owner  many  and 
many  a  time.  Before  the  little  leaded  window- 
panes  hung  gayly  embroidered  curtains  drawn  widely 
apart  to  let  in  the  bright  sunshine.  The  shining 
waxed  floor  was  partly  covered  by  a  bright-colored 
carpet,  and  Antje's  spinning-wheel  stood  by  the  fire- 
place before  a  pretty  peasant  chair.  Beautiful  old 
cabinets  were  placed  against  the  wainscoted  walls 


33^  Misjudged. 


— one  genuine  rococo,  inlaid  with  ivory  ;  another 
Renaissance  in  style,  on  which  was  the  Marriage  at 
Cana  in  wood-mosaic,  an  artistic  piece  of  work. 
The  work-table,  by  the  southern  window,  had  come 
from  the  Dutch  grandmother.  The  great,  comfort- 
able sofa,  the  round  table  in  front  of  it,  and  the 
army  of  chairs  and  stools  of  different  centuries, 
looked  cosey  and  attractive.  For  the  decoration  of 
the  walls  and  cornices,  Antje  had  plundered  the 
attics,  had  filled  old  Delft  jars  with  fresh  flowers, 
had  brought  out  old  family  pictures  in  black  frames, 
which  made  an  admirable  decoration  for  the  old 
brown  leather  hangings  adorned  with  arabesques 
stamped  in  gold,  such  as  would  put  modern  imita- 
tions to  shame  for  color  and  effectiveness.  And 
here,  before  the  door  opening  on  the  veranda, 
through  which  streamed  the  golden-green  light  from 
the  garden,  they  sat  in  the  afternoons  when  the 
young  doctor  came — Antje  alone  or  with  Hilda. 

Hilda  was  still  there.  While  Antje  had  been 
nursing  Leo  she  had  devoted  herself  to  the  care  of 
the  child.  And  now,  when  old  Classen  had  taken 
charge  of  her,  Antje  could  not  say  to  the  young 
girl,  without  a  want  of  courtesy  of  which  she  was 
not  capable  :  "  Leave  my  house  !  "  And  Hilda  did 
not  seem  to  think  for  a  moment  that  such  a  thing 
was  possible. 

Antje  endured  the  girl's  presence  with  a  hauteur 
which  could  not  have  failed  to  be  painful  to  Hilda 
if  she  had  ever  wakened  out  of  a  certain  dreamy 
meditation  into  which  she  seemed  to  have  plunged. 
Antje  looked  at  her  sometimes  with  a  feeling  of 
amazement.     She  would  smile  so  happiiy  to  herself, 


Misjudged.  337 


and  then  again  an  expression  of  pain  would  draw 
down  the  little  mouth  and  a  frown  would  ap- 
pear between  the  dark  brows.  At  such  moments 
Antje  supposed  she  was  thinking  of  her  future  hap- 
piness, or  she  was  anxious  about  his  future  and  her 
own. 

Sometimes  Hilda  would  wander  about  the  woods 
for  the  whole  afternoon,  and  would  not  come 
back  till  evening,  when  she  would  appear  with  glow- 
ing cheeks,  a  half -withered  bunch  of  flowers  at  her 
breast,  and  both  hands  full  of  blossoms,  which  she 
would  lay  silently  on  Antje's  work-table.  The 
young  wife  would  put  the  flowers  in  fresh  water, 
but  she  carried  them  into  another  room  where  she 
could  not  see  them.  She  always  felt  as  if  she  must 
ask  the  flowers  :  "Was  she  a/i?«^ when  she  gathered 
you,  or  did  he  help  to  pluck  you  ?  " 

The  doctor,  apparently,  did  not  observe  this  rather 
strained  intercourse  between  the  two,  and  he  had 
adopted  a  fatherly  tone  toward  Hilda,  half-tender, 
half- reproving,  but  more  inclined  to  reproof  than  to 
praise. 

The  two  ladies  were  sitting  together  thus  in  the 
garden  hall  on  the  last  of  May,  Hilda  with  a  book 
in  her  hand  from  which  she  was  reading  aloud. 
Antje  had  requested  it,  in  order  to  escape  the  tor- 
ture of  a  conversation  with  her,  for  she  felt  that 
Hilda  was  seeking  for  an  opportunity  to  talk  with 
her  to-day,  and  she  would  not  give  it  to  her.  What 
good  could  it  do  ?  The  little  one  was  playing  on 
the  sunny  gravel  walk  in  front  of  the  veranda,  under 
Classen's  care.  Antje  was  holding  her  work  idly  in 
her  lap,  and  did  not  hear  a  word  of  what  Hilda  was 

23 


33^  Misjudged. 


reading.  It  was  "  L'  Arrabbiata,"  by  Paul  Heyse. 
The  young  girl  stopped  for  a  moment.  Antje,  thus 
startled  out  of  her  meditations,  looked  inquiringly 
at  her,  and  Hilda  went  on  reading  : 

"As  for  my  father,  no  one  ever  knew  how  he  treated  my 
mother,  for  she  would  have  died  a  thousand  deaths  before 
she  would  have  uttered  a  word  of  complaint  \  And  just  be- 
cause she  loved  him.  Now,  if  that  is  the  effect  of  love,  that 
it  closes  one's  mouth  when  one  ought  to  shriek  for  help,  and 
makes  a  person  utterly  helpless  against  tortures  worse  than 
the  bitterest  enemy  would  inflict,  then  I  will  never  give  my 
heart  into  the  power  of  a  man.** 

She  dropped  the  book,  and  looked  at  Antje 
timidly,  and  with  a  shy,  imploring  glance.  The 
young  wife  hastily  took  up  her  work,  and  then  she 
put  it  aside,  got  up,  and,  opening  her  parasol  of 
unbleached  linen,  she  went  out  through  the  sunny 
garden  along  the  path  by  the  river.  There  she 
opened  a  little  door  in  the  wall  which  led  into  the 
■Wood,  and  began  to  walk  slowly  up  the  steep  path 
which  wound  along  the  mountain,  with  its  magnifi- 
cent beeches.  Such  a  woodland  path  is  delicious 
in  the  spring-time.  She  walked  on  under  a  light 
green,  transparent  canopy,  through  which  fell  bright 
golden  rays,  and  on  either  side  soft  moss,  young 
ferns,  and  blue  flowers.  And  everywhere  the  tiny 
brooks,  clear  as  crystal,  plashed  and  tinkled  and 
babbled  across  the  path  in  their  hurry  to  get  down 
into  the  valley.  Now  and  then  a  deer  would  with- 
draw into  the  thicket  slowly,  as  if  it  knew  that 
in  this  blissful  spring-time  no  hunter  was  lying  in 
wait  for  it.  Its  little  fawn  looked  wonderingly  at 
the  human  figure,  and  then  ran  off  after  its  mother. 


Misjudged.  '  33^ 


The  songs  of  birds  sounded  from  the  tree-tops  ;  it 
was  so  quiet,  and  yet  so  sweet  here  in  the  forest,  so- 
peaceful  and  yet  so  full  of  longing ;  it  was  like  a 
sermon  on  the  joys  of  eternal  youth  and  bliss,  like 
a  song  of  love  and  happiness. 

Antje  felt  all  this ;  she  took  it  all  in,  but  it  hurt 
her.  She  was  possessed  by  but  one  thought — what 
will  he  do  ?  How  will  it  end  ?  How  could  she 
help  him  without  humiliating  him  ?  She  felt  weary 
in  body  to-day,  and  discouraged,  in  addition.  She 
wondered  how  she  could  ever  bear  to  lire  on  like 
this,  and  the  worst  was  yet  to  come.  But  nothing 
but  her  pale  cheeks  and  her  sad  eyes  betrayed  how 
much  she  was  suffering. 

What  was  it  Hilda  had  just  read  ?  "  Love  closes 
the  mouth  when  one  ought  to  cry  out  for  help !  " 
But,  ah,  who  was  there  to  help  her  ?  She  knew  no 
one  in  the  whole  wide  world ;  the  only  friend  she 
had  was  dead  now. 

She  had  slowly  mounted  higher  and  higher.  Now 
she  turned  aside  from  the  road  and  walked  along  a 
narrow  path  through  the  young  undergrowth  ;  the 
bushes  swung  together  behind  her,  and  like  a  green 
transparent  curtain  separated  her  from  the  road 
which  she  had  just  left.  She  knew  well  and  loved 
the  little  open  space  in  which  she  now  stood.  A 
couple  of  tree-stumps  had  been  made  into  a  rude 
seat,  by  the  aid  of  a  couple  of  boards,  beneath  a 
huge  overhanging  beech-tree.  Through  an  open- 
ing in  the  trees  one  could  look  down  from  here  on 
the  manor-house  and  the  garden.  Although  she 
was  far  above  them,  Antje  could  plainly  distinguish 
the  white  figure  of  her  little  daughter,  who  was 


34©  Misjudged. 


playing  with  her  tiny  garden-tools  beside  the  nurse, 
who  was  busily  knitting. 

How  delightful  it  would  have  been  if  husband 
and  wife  could  have  been  sitting  here,  looking  down 
on  their  happy  home  ! 

She  leaned  her  head  against  the  trunk  of  the 
tree.  She  would  gladly  have  wept,  have  wept  all 
this  wretched  weight  from  her  heart,  but  she 
seemed  to  have  no  more  tears.  She  sat  thus  for  a 
long  time,  till  a  light  step  sounded  on  the  path ; 
through  the  bushes  she  caught  the  gleam  of  a  light 
dress,  and  the  next  moment  Antje  saw,  a  little 
above  her,  Hilda  walking  along,  swinging  her  gar- 
den hat  in  her  hand.  Then  she  stopped,  and 
Antje  heard  a  familiar  voice  saying,  in  a  tone  of 
good-humored  reproof : 

Worn   unpunctual   you   are,    Hilda  !     You   will 
have  to  break  yourself  of  that ! " 

Then  followed  a  kiss,  and  Maiberg — yes,  it  was 
Maiberg — added  :  "  I  am  always  the  instructor,  my 
poor  little  girl,  and  never  the  tender  lover  !  How 
will  you  bear  that,  Hilda  ?  " 

The  girl  was  silent  for  a  while,  and  then  she  said 
clearly  and  heartily  :  "  I  am  so  thankful  that  I  have 
you  !  I  could  not  imagine  myself  engaged  to  any 
one  else  but  you.  Wolf." 

Antje's  eyes  had  opened  wider  and  wider,  and 
every  trace  of  color  had  fled  from  her  face.  She 
walked  on  with  tottering  steps,  on  and  on  into  the 
green  wilderness,  and  when  she  had  at  length  got 
beyond  the  sound  of  those  two  voices,  she  stopped, 
flung  her  arms  round  a  birch-tree  as  if  for  support, 
and  gazed  absently  along  the  high-road,  which  she 


Misjudged.  341 


had  come  upon  without  being  aware  of  it.  How 
was  it  possible,  how  could  it  be  possible  ! 

A  couple  of  wood-choppers  who  were  coming 
along  the  road  took  off  their  hats  to  her — but  she 
did  not  see  them.  After  a  while  she  roused  herself ; 
she  stepped  out  into  the  road,  and  then  walked  hur- 
riedly along  in  the  direction  of  the  forest-house. 
She  must  keep  Leo  from  hearing  this  news  ;  he 
must  not  have  this  last  and  most  bitter  cup  to  drink 
while  he  was  still  so  ill,  before  he  had  begun  to  re- 
cover his  strength.  It  would  crush  him  to  the  earth, 
it  would  be  his  ruin.     Good  God  ! 

She  would  await  Maiberg's  return  in  Frau  Dora's 
parlor,  would  entreat  him  to  be  silent  until  Leo  was 
quite  well  again. 

By  walking  quickly  she  was  able  to  reach  the 
forest-house  in  three-quarters  of  an  hour.  The 
gnarled  oaks  in  front  of  it  had  unfolded  all  their 
leaves  beneath  the  rays  of  the  hot  sun,  and  the 
Forsterin  had  hung  her  washing  out  to  dry.  Leo's 
gable  window  stood  wide  open,  and  his  gay  cover- 
lids and  the  carpets  that  Antje  had  sent  up  for  him 
were  hanging  out  of  the  window  to  air.  The  dogs 
were  stretched  out  on  the  stone  steps  before  the 
door  in  the  warm  sunshine,  and  on  the  threshold  of 
the  house  sat  Frau  Dorchen,  with  her  red-haired 
Lola  in  her  lap,  talking  to  the  animal  in  tender,  com- 
passionate tones. 

Antje  bade  her  "  Good  afternoon."  The  little 
woman  looked  up  ;  her  eyes  were  red  with  crying. 
"  Good  Lord  !  "  she  cried,  without  getting  up,  "  you 
look  like  a  ghost,  Frau  Jussnitz  !  If  you  had  only 
come  a  little  earlier  !    Herr  Jussnitz  went  down  into 


342  Misjudged. 


the  valley  only  half  an  hour  ago.  Good  Heavens, 
I  felt  as  if  one  of  my  own  relations  was  going  away, 
we  have  had  him  here  so  long." 

"  He  is  gone  ?  "  inquired  the  young  wife,  her  face 
turning  a  shade  paler. 

Dorchen  nodded.  But  Antje  walked  past  the 
pretty  woman,  who  was  washing  Lola's  wounds,  re- 
ceived in  the  last  fox-hunt,  with  tea,  and  mounted 
the  stairs  to  the  sick-room  ;  she  could  not  conceal 
her  anxiety  from  the  eyes  of  this  woman. 

The  room  bore  traces  of  the  recent  departure  of 
its  occupant ;  it  looked  bare,  empty,  and  forlorn, 
the  bureau  drawers  left  open,  a  sheet  of  paper  ly- 
ing on  the  floor,  withered  flowers  in  the  vases,  and 
a  half-empty  wine-glass. 

She  sat  down,  quite  exhausted,- by  the  bed,  and 
looked  about  at  the  disorder,  as  if  she  could  discover 
in  this  miserable  rubbish  what  had  driven  him  away. 
But  she  knew  already — it  was  Hilda's  infidelity, 
Hilda's  falsehood  ! 

"  O  God !  grant  that  he  may  not  be  driven  to 
despair  ;  support  him  for  his  child's  sake  I  "  she 
prayed.  She  was  overpowered  by  a  perfect  agony 
of  dread.  She  started  up  and  hurried  to  the  door, 
but  she  stopped,  for  some  one  was  coming  up  the 
stairs,  and  then  toward  the  room  where  she  was. 
It  was  Maiberg,  who  started  back  in  amazement 
when  he  saw  Antje. 

"  You  here  ?     And  where  is  Leo  ?  "  i 

"  He  is  gone  !  I  wanted  to  ask  you  why  he 
decided  so  suddenly — "  she  stammered. 

The  doctor  looked  "as  dismayed  as  if  some  one 
had  told  him  the  Brocken  had  suddenly  been  re- 


Misjudged.  343 


moved  to  China,  "  He  has  kept  his  own  counsel,'* 
he  said  at  length. 

She  looked  at  him  wonderingly. 

"  Why,  Frau  Antje,  what  do  you  suppose  ?  "  began 
Maiberg.  "  He  has  gone  out  into  the  world  I  You 
couldn't  expect  that  he  would  go  on  living  here  like 
a  bird  in  a  cage,  having  his  little  dishes  filled  with 
food  for  him  every  day  ?  He  has  gone  to  carve 
out  a  career  for  himself.  But  I  did  not  know  he 
was  in  such  a  hurry  about  it ;  I  believe  he  went 
secretly  because  he  didn't  want  to  take  me  with 
him." 

"  Then  you  knew  that  he  had  a  plan  ?  "  she  in- 
quired. 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure  I  I  meant  even  to  accompany 
him  a  little  way  on  his  road — at  least,  that  was  my 
intention  yesterday  noon  ;  but  since  then,  to  be 
sure,  my  life  has  undergone  a  change." 

He  leaned  against  the  bureau,  and  a  quiet  smile 
played  about  his  bearded  lips. 

"  Did  Leo  know  of  this  change  ?  "  she  inquired, 
still  unable  to  control  her  agitation. 

The  young  doctor  laughed  lightly.  "  How  could 
he  know  it  ?  I  only  knew  myself  last  evening — 
that  I — "  He  caught  the  trembling  woman's  hand? 
and  pressed  them  warmly.  "  I  may  say  to  you, 
as  I  was  just  going  to  say  to  Leo,  that  I  am  en- 
gaged to  Hilda,"  and  still  continuing  to  shake  her 
hands,  he  went  on :  "  Frau  Antje,  I  know  you  will 
be  surprised  ;  I  wonder  at  it  myself.  She  does  not 
possess  one  quality  of  all  those  I  had  hoped  for  and 
dreamed  of  in  my  future  wife.  I  had  only  one 
ideal  in  my  mind — a  woman   like   yourself,  Frau 


344  Misjudged. 


Antje,  gentle  and  good  as  an  angel,  wise  and 
reasonable — "  He  laughed,  and  there  was  a  glim- 
mer of  tears  in  his  frank  blue  eyes.  "  And  now 
Fate  has  put  in  my  way  a  child  with  all  sorts  of 
wrong  and  silly  ideas  in  her  head  ;  a  creature  that  I 
must  watch  over  as  if  I  were  her  father  ;  a  girl  who 
can,  perhaps,  never  give  me,  of  all  that  a  man  ex- 
pects from  his  future  wife,  more  than  a  feeling  of 
deep  gratitude  and  a  childlike  trust  and  faith  ;  and 
yet  whom  I  have  loved  ever  since  she  first  looked 
at  me  with  her  great,  splendid  eyes,  helplessly  and 
imploringly,  better,  perhaps,  than  I  should  have 
loved  a  better  woman.  And  now  do  not  say,  Frau 
Antje,  that  I  am  on  the  point  of  committing  a  folly  ; 
do  not  say  it  !  I  know  what  I  am  doing,  and  you, 
Antje,  you,  have  shown  me  what  true,  faithful  love 
veally  is  !  It  struggles,  it  suffers,  it  is  tortured,  it 
can  be  stern  and  hard,  but  it  is  unalterable  in  its 
fidelity." 

He  released  her,  and  moved  away. 

She  stood  where  he  left  her,  with  bent  head. 
"And  Leo?    When  he  hears  it  ?"  she  whispered. 

"  Frau  Antje,"  he  said,  putting  his  hand  on  her 
shoulder,  "  Leo  has  forgotten  that  dream  of  his.  I 
know  it ;  I  am  not  unskilled  in  reading  character. 
And  you  will  not  visit  it  upon  him  because  he  has 
erred  once.  And  if  he  had  not  forgotten,  if  he  had 
still  to  learn  to  forget,  you  must  not  make  it  harder 
for  him  by  a  false  pity." 

She  made  no  reply  ;  she  walked  suddenly  up  to 
the  table,  stooped  and  picked  up  a  little  red  bow 
from  the  floor,  which  lay  dusty  and  crushed  among 
the  rubbish  and  torn  papers.     She  looked  at  it  for 


Misjudged,  345 


a  little  while.  "  Has  he  the  lesson  still  to  learn  ?  " 
she  asked  of  the  tiny  thing.  "  No  !  "  replied  the 
mute  little  messenger  ;  "  No  !  " 

In  the  evening  of  that  same  day  Antje  sat  at  the 
table  at  home  with  the  newly  engaged  couple,  wish- 
ing them  all  happiness  with  a  grave  but  friendly 
face.  And  when  they  separated  at  length,  Hilda 
caressingly  accompanied  the  young  wife  to  her 
room,  and  there  she  knelt  down  before  her  and 
sobbed  out  an  entreaty  for  forgiveness. 

Antje  stroked  the  young  girl's  head.  "  See  that 
you  make  him  happy,"  was  her  only  reply. 

"  I  will  ;  I  will  with  all  my  heart,"  asseverated 
Hilda. 

"  Hilda,"  asked  Antje  suddenly,  in  a  trembling 
voice,  "  do  you  love  him  ? " 

The  girl  lifted  up  her  tear-stained  face  ;  a  rog- 
uish smile  displayed  all  her  little  pearly  teeth,  "  I 
think  I  do  I  "  she  replied  in  a  whisper  ;  "  and  if  I 
do  not  love  him  yet  as  passionately  and  as  de- 
votedly as  I  have  always  fancied  I  could  love,  I  am 
sure  I  shall  learn  to  do  so  some  day." 

Antje  bent  her  head  sadly.  "  I  trust  you  may 
not  find  yourself  mistaken  in  this  belief,  dear  Hilda. 
But  now,  good-night,  good-night."  And  Hilda 
slipped  out  of  the  room. 

But  Antje  did  not  go  to  sleep.  She  walked  up 
and  down  on  this  last  night  in  May,  in  her  comfort- 
able, cosey  room.  And  her  thoughts  strayed  away 
into  the  wide  world — somewhere,  somewhere  out 
there,  a  little  boat  was  tossing  on  the  waves  of  life  ; 
would  the  weak  hand  that  steered  it  be  strong 
enough  to  guide  it  past  the  breakers  ?     Had  it  bal- 


346  Misjudged. 


last  enough  of  force  and  character  ?  Would  it  ever 
return  to  her  ? 

A  nightingale  began  to  sing  outside,  in  front  of 
the  window ;  the  night  was  so  soft,  so  sweet,  so 
odorous !  She  went  to  the  window,  and  looked  out 
into  the  twilight  garden  ;  she  stood  there  as  she 
had  done  when  she  was  a  betrothed  maiden,  and 
wished  that  she  might  look  out  to  that  distant 
spot  whither  he  had  betaken  himself. 

She  thought  that  a  mother  who  is  sending  out 
a  beloved  son  into  all  the  dangers  of  the  world 
would  feel,  perhaps,  as  she  did  now ;  that  she 
could  not  sleep  during  the  night  for  anxiety  ;  that 
no  morning  would  dawn  in  which  she  would  not 
think  of  him  with  fear  and  dread. 

"  Thank  God  !  "  she  said,  "  that  I  have  work  to 
do— a  great  deal  of  work."  i 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

Summer  passed  away,  and  autumn  came  round 
again.  The  Wild  Huntsman  dashed  through  the 
air  in  the  frightfully  stormy  nights,  the  rusty 
weathercock  creaked  on  its  hinges,  and  the  sparks 
from  the  forge  were  scattered  in  all  directions.  But 
the  old  walls  of  the  manor-house  guarded  well  the 
lonely  woman  and  her  child,  who  had  taken  refuge 
there.  The  fire  blazed  in  the  huge  green  porcelain 
stove  through  all  the  fury  of  the  tempest.  The 
night-lamp  hummed  slightly,  and  the  child,  in  its 
little  bed,  breathed  softly. 

But  the  larger  bed  remained  untouched ;  Frau 
Antje  could  not  sleep.  She  thought  of  her  wedding- 
day  the  year  before,  when  he  made  her  feel,  for  the 
first  time,  that  she  was  an  unloved  wife,  of  no  value 
in  his  life  ;  and  she  recalled  all  the  sad,  weary  days 
that  had  followed.  But  these  late  months  had 
seemed  the  hardest  of  all.  At  first,  when  she  found 
Leo  had  gone  away,  she  had  hoped  for  a  few  lines 
of  farewell ;  but  no  news  had  come,  then  or  later — 
she  had  never  once  heard  from  him.  Maiberg  went 
away,  but  he,  too,  knew  nothing  of  Leo. 

Hilda  had  already  left  "Gottessegen,"  and  re- 
turned to  her  parents.  Her  lover  had  followed  her, 
and  the  wedding  had  just  taken  place,  only  a  few 
days  before.    The  steamer  which  was  carrying  them 


348  Misjudged. 


to  Rio  de  Janeiro  was  already  tossing  about  on  the 
ocean.  Aunt  Polly  had  been  present  at  the  wed- 
ding, which  was  made  the  occasion  of  a  complete 
reconciliation.  A  postal-card,  which  Hilda  had 
scribbled  just  before  the  ceremony,  to  thank  Antje 
for  a  costly  wedding-gift,  spoke  of  another  present, 
a — Antje  could  scarcely  decipher  the  words — a 
charming  statuette  of  bronze,  representing  a  little 
Cupid  with  bandaged  eyes.  But  the  happy,  thought- 
less Hilda  had  not  said  a  word  of  whence  this  pres- 
ent came — from  what  city  or  what  country.  Nor 
did  the  bridegroom  mention  his  friend  in  the  few 
earnest  words  that  he  sent ;  there  was  only  a  heart- 
felt desire  for  her  future  happiness,  an  entreaty  to 
be  kept  in  remembrance,  the  hope  of  a  future  meet- 
ing. He,  too,  knew  nothing  definite,  or,  if  he  did, 
he  would  not  speak  of  it, 

Antje  was  brave  and  steadfast ;  she  tried  to  soothe 
her  pain  by  work,  and  of  this  she  had  more  than 
enough  ;  it  was  a  marvel  how  she  managed  to 
attend  to  it  all.  The  workmen  made  claims  upon 
the  new  mistress,  which  they  would  not  have 
thought  of  making  upon  the  Frau  Bergrath,  The 
times  were  changed,  and  Antje  understood  this. 
She  was  always  ready  to  consider  just  demands, 
but  she  had  courage  enough  to  put  down  all  inso- 
lence, and  this  even  in  personal  intercourse  with 
the  people.  For  when  a  gigantic  workman  called 
out  to  her  an  insolent  threat — she  was  standing, 
raised  a  little  above  the  people,  on  one  of  the  steps 
in  the  hall — she  turned  him  away  with  a  few  words, 
and  his  dismissal  followed  instantly. 

Old  Herr  Kortmer  and  the  young  clerks  in  the 


Alisjudged.  349 


counting-house  could  not  believe  their  ears  ;  and  the 
former  urgently  entreated  Frau  Antje  to  cease  her 
lonely  walks,  for  the  discharged  workman  was  a 
revengeful  fellow,  and  quite  capable  of  anything. 
But  Antje  shook  her  head,  with  a  smile,  and  that  very 
same  evening  she  went  to  the  big,  impudent  fellow's 
house  to  tell  his  wife,  who  had  a  child  three  days 
old,  that  she  could  stay  quietly  in  her  house  till  she 
had  quite  recovered,  and  till  her  husband  had 
found  another  situation.  To  be  sure,  she  received 
no  thanks  for  this  ;  the  man,  who  was  sitting  at  the 
table  with  clinched  fists,  said  not  a  word,  but  his 
gloomy  eyes  spoke  for  him,  and  what  they  said  was 
not  reassuring.  But  Antje,  apparently,  did  not 
observe  this.  Three  days  after,  however,  the  great, 
tall  fellow  came  to  her  and  begged  to  be  taken 
back  again  ;  he  said  he  had  found  that  she  was 
just  and  merciful,  and  he  would  never  offend  again. 
And  Antje  put  him  on  probation,  on  the  result  of 
which  depended  his  reinstatement. 

The  building  of  the  new  furnace  was  in  progress, 
and  the  yield  of  the  mine  was  excellent ;  the  busi- 
ness was  greatly  enlarged,  and  the  number  of  work- 
men increased.  Antje  had  the  plans  for  the  houses 
for  the  men  and  for  the  hospital  lying  on  her  work- 
table  ;  the  contract  for  the  new  physician's  dwelling- 
house  had  already  been  signed  by  her,  and  she  was 
choosing  the  situation  for  it — it  was  to  be  a  Swiss 
chalet.  For  the  rest  she  lived  a  perfectly  secluded 
life,  for  which  her  deep  mourning  afforded  suffi- 
cient excuse.  She  did  not  know  what  explanation 
was  given  with  regard  to  ^r  husband's  absence,  and 
she  did  not  wish  to  know.    Herr  Kortmer  took  care 


35©  Misjudged. 


to  spread  the  report  that  Herr  Jussnitz  was  travel- 
ling and  studying  in  Italy.  i 

The  pastor's  family  was  the  only  one  Antje  ever 
visited,  and  sometimes  old  Frau  Kortmer  came  to 
have  a  chat  with  hjr,  carrying  her  huge  pompadour, 
which  always  held  some  little  dainty  for  the  child ; 
and  then  they  talked  about  the  time  when  Antje's 
parents  were  still  alive.  Occasionally,  also,  the 
Frau  Forsterin  made  her  appearance.  She  always 
liked  to  come,  for  on  a  little  bracket  in  Antje's  room 
stood  a  photograph  of  the  "  Witch  of  the  Brocken," 
and  the  vain  young  woman  took  great  pleasure  in 
looking  at  the  picture. 

Antje  employed  her  leisure  hours  in  reading,  and 
never  in  her  life  had  she  found  so  much  time  for 
this  occupation.  She  discovered  many  treasures  in 
her  bookcase ;  she  did  not  choose  light  literature,  but 
selected  instructive  works,  and  history — above  all, 
the  history  of  art.  She  had  read  all  these  books 
before  when  she  took  lessons  of  the  Herr  Pastor,  but 
now  she  read  them  again  with  eagerness  and  with 
newly-awakened  intelligence.  She  had  thoughts 
which  would  come  when  she  had  closed  her  book  ; 
the  question  concerning  the  future,  to  which  there 
was  only  one  answer, — "  Patience  !  " — she  tried  to 
forget  in  the  society  of  her  child. 

But  a  secret  voice  kept  whispering  in  her  ear, 
which  spoke  of  hope  and  approaching  happiness ; 
she  had  a  presentiment  as  if,  somehow,  the  clouds 
which  hung  over  her  so  heavily  must  part  a  little,  a 
very  little,  to  let  one — only  one — single  gleam  of  hope 
shine  through. 

She  went  down  stairs  in  the  early  morning  into 


Misjudged.  351 


the  dining-room  to  take  her  breakfast.  The  cold 
gray  light  of  an  October  morning  shone  through  the 
window  ;  her  cup  looked  so  lonely  on  the  great 
table,  the  tiny  tea-pot  which  the  maid  brought  in 
held  tea  enough  for  (?«<?  person  alone — the  young  wife 
could  not  touch  it. 

"Five  years  ago  to-da>,"  was  the  thought  that 
kept  passing  through  her  mind.  Five  years  ago  to- 
day the  sun  had  shone  brightly  into  the  room,  and 
garlands  and  evergreen  hung  about  everywhere ; 
five  years  ago  to-day  a  fair  young  girl  was  sitting 
at  breakfast  with  her  parents  for  the  last  time.  She 
could  not  drink  her  tea,  because  each  one  of  the  two 
old  people  had  caught  one  of  her  hands  and  was 
kissing  and  stroking  it.  How  rapidly  the  hours  had 
passed,  how  quickly  the  moment  came  when  a  fig- 
ure clad  in  white  silk  walked  through  the  hall  on 
Ms  arm  to  drive  to  the  church,  with  such  pride  and 
happiness  I  And  how  soon  the  moment  came 
when  she  got  into  the  carriage  to  go  away  with 
him ! 

The  young  wife  pushed  away  her  cup,  and  said  to 
herself,  half  aloud,  "  I  must  not  keep  thinking  of 
this,  I  must  not !  '*    But  who  can  banish  thought  ? 

She  rose  with  an  air  of  determination,  pressed  her 
hands  for  a  moment  over  her  eyes,  and  went  through 
the  counting-house  into  her  study.  The  post-bag 
seemed  to  have  been  full  that  day,  for  as  many  as 
twenty  letters  lay  on  her  writing-table. 

A  box  also  stood  beside  it  on  the  floor,  with  the 
cover  already  taken  off.  * 

She  read  the  letters,  went  to  speak  to  Kortmer  at 
his  desk,  and  after  a  long  conversation  with  him 


35  a  Misjudged. 


came  back  to  the  study.  As  she  was  about  to  sit 
down  to  write,  her  foot  struck  against  the  box,  and 
she  laid  down  her  pen,  knelt  down  on  the  floor,  and 
began  to  unpack  it.  What  could  it  be  "i  An  end- 
less amount  of  excelsior,  hay,  and  paper — and  at 
last  a  hard  substance.  She  tried  to  lift  it  out,  but 
it  was  impossible,  it  was  too  heavy.  She  touched 
the  bell  and  sent  for  the  porter.  The  sturdy  Harz 
peasant  had  some  difficulty  in  lifting  out  an  object 
wrapped  carefully  in  oiled  silk. 

"  It  must  be  njade  of  stone  or  iron,  Frau  Juss- 
nitz,"  he  said,  as  he  placed  the  mysterious  object 
on  the  writing-table,  wiped  the  perspiration  from  his 
forehead  with  his  apron,  and  went  out.  ''■ 

But  Antje  cut  the  string  which  tied  the  wrap- 
pings, and  tore  off  the  paper ;  then  she  stood  with 
clasped  hands  before  a  group  in  bronze,  gazing  at 
it  in  silence,  and  gradually  a  deep  flush  overspread 
her  pale  face,  and  a  few  glittering  drops  trembled 
on  her  long  lashes.  Wonderful  alike  in  composition 
and  modelling  was  this  ideal  figure  of  a  man  bending 
forward  :  he  was  standing  on  the  summit  of  a  great 
rock  which  he  seemed  to  have  just  reached  ;  his  foot 
was  already  hanging  over  the  precipice,  and  the 
next  moment  he  would  plunge  over  into  the  abyss, 
which  his  eyes,  looking  upward,  did  not  perceive. 
There  was  a  chain  about  his  waist,  and  the  other 
end  of  the  chain  was  wound  round  a  beautiful 
woman's  figure  ;  she,  in  chaste  garments  of  antique 
fashion,  was  leaning  against  the  rock,  her  hand  hold- 
ing a  spindle,  the  symbol  of  womanliness  and  do- 
mesticity, the  slender  foot  firmly  placed  against  a 
Stone  on  the  ground,  but  her  eyes  were  fixed  on  the 


Misjudged.  jJSJ 


man.    There  was  a  wonderful  expression  of  love 
and  anxiety  in  the  features  of  this  young  woman. 
Below  on  the  pedestal  were  engraved  these  words : 

•*  Well  for  the  husband  bound  by  such  a  chain  f 
From  misery  and  death  it  draws  him  home  again.* 

And  Antje  understood — she  understood  the  full 
meaning.  She  threw  herself  on  her  knees  before 
the  writing-table,  and  embraced  the  work  of  art  in 
mute  rejoicing. 

Then  she  searched  with  trembling  hands  for  a 
letter— a  word  ;  but  she  found  nothing.  There 
was  nothing  but  the  bill  of  lading,  which  bore  the 
name  of  a  celebrated  bronze-foundery  in  a  West- 
phalian  city. 

And  then  she  looked  at  the  group,  and  at  last 
she  found  on  the  rock  at  the  woman's  feet  two 
little  letters,  "  L.  J.,"  the  signature  which  Leo  always 
put  on  his  pictures.  She  leaned  her  head  against 
the  cold  bronze  and  cried. 

On  that  morning  Antje  was  not  accessible  for 
business  purposes ;  Herr  Kortmer  attended  to  every- 
thing with  a  wondering  shake  of  the  head.  But 
Frau  Antje  sat  in  her  great  sitting-room,  writing 
private  letters. 

The  old  man  said  to  his  wife  at  dinner :  **  Women 
are  queer  creatures,  that  I  must  say  ;  for  six  months 
she  has  been  perfectly  reasonable,  and  even  devoted 
to  the  business,  but  to-day  she  happens  to  take  it 
into  her  head  to  write  private  letters  just  at  the  time 
when  she  ought  to  have  been  attending  to  her  af- 
tairs.  And  she  has  sent  off  a  telegram  to  Hen 
Ferdinand  Frey.  to  come  here  to  coffee  this  aftei^ 


5*4  Misjuajfea. 

noon.  I  say,  Frau  Antje,  there  must  be  80irii>l  hing 
behind  all  this  ! " 

There  was  a  very  long  conversation  with  Cousin 
Ferdinand.  Finally  Herr  Kortmer  himself  waa 
called  in.  He  found  two  young  people  with  eyes 
sparkling  and  cheeks  flushed  with  eagemes»  and 
the  ardor  of  enterprise.  i 

Ah,  and  how  Herr  Kortmer  opposed  the  mon- 
strous plan  !  Set  up  a  bronze-toundery  ?  It  was 
impossible,  absolutely  impossible !  How  could  they 
compete  with  the  celebrated  founderies  in  France, 
for  instance  ?  Ah,  there  they  have  first-rate  artists — 
for  the  mere  casting,  my  friends,  is  not  everything. 
You  can  find  the  metal  in  more  places  than  one, 
and  we  could  manage  the  composition ;  uut  the 
model  for  the  object  to  be  cast,  the  idea^  the  art,  my 
dear  Frau  Jussnitz,  the  genius — ah,  yes — you  will 
have  to  search  far  for  that,  it  is  not  to  be  found  by 
the  wayside.  No,  it  is  impossible,  quite  impossible  ! 
Or  do  you  suppose  an  artist  by  divine  right  will 
come  to  you  if  you  only  whistle  for  him  ?  Good 
Heavens  !  you  might  look  forever  and  you  couldn't 
find  what  you  want — a  man  like  that  does  n^t  grow 
on  every  bush.  No,  you  had  better  drop  that  idea, 
Frau  Jussnitz ;  I  must  advise  you  not  to  attempt 
it" 

The  old  gentleman  excitedly  helped  himself  to 
a  pinch  of  snuff,  and  waved  his  red  silk  handker- 
chief ;  and  when  he  had  gone  through  w'th  this 
rather  lengthened  ceremony  he  looked  up  at  Frau 
Antje  and  gazed  into  her  laughing  face.  Herr  Kort- 
mer forgot  to  put  away  his  snuff-box,  for  he  had 
col  set:ii  his  voi:n<;  mistress  lauyh    for  a«cs.     Aiid 


Misjudged  iSf 

when  he  IcMsked  across  at  Herr  Frey  hs  iiraa  laud- 
ing too. 

The  faithful  official  felt  for  a  moment  as  thou^ 
his  confidence  had  been  betrayed. 

"  Well,"  said  the  young  wife,  "  we  will  manage 
the  matter  in  this  way.  my  dear  Kortmer :  I  will 
first  find  the  artist,  the  genius,  and  then  we  will 
set  up  the  foundery  with  his  help.  And  I  hope  I 
may  be  able  to  introduce  you  to  this  artist  within 
a  fortnight.  I  hope  so,"  she  added,  in  a  lower 
tone,  "  for  I  do  not  know  yet  whether  he — "  Then 
she  raised  her  head — "  yes,  I  do  know  it  too  !  In 
a  fortnight,  then.  And  pray,  my  dear  Kortmer.  look 
at  this  group  and  tell  me  how  you  like  it." 

Sh«  drew  the  old  man  toward  the  mantelpiece 
pn  which  the  work  of  art  stood.  The  lamps  which 
burned  on  either  side  of  it  lighted  up  the  charm- 
ing figures,  which  looked  wonderfully  beautiful  in 
this  light. 

"  Ah,  a  genius  like  that — you  may  look  for  a 
long  time,  a  long  time  !  "  he  said  at  length. 

*'  Then  you  grant  that  the  group  is  beautiful,  my 
dear  Kortmer  ?  " 

"  Yes,  so  far  as  I  am  a  judge,  it  is  very  beautiful  I 
But  I  am  very  much  mistaken  if  I  have  not  already 
seen  a  picture  of  that  thing.  Good  gracious  !  yes. 
just  you  wait  a  minute,  Frau  Jussnitz " 

And  the  old  gentleman  ran  to  the  counting-room 
as  fast  as  he  could,  and  came  back  with  a  leaf  of  an 
illustrated  journal. 

"  There,  you  see,  Frau  Jussnitz,  that  must  be  it, 
and  here  is  something  about  it :  *  Munich,  August 
30,  18—.     In  the  department  of  bronzes  and  artis» 


350  Misjudged. 


tic  casts,  the  first  work  of  a  young  artist  has  at- 
tracted much  attention  :  *  Chains ! ' — original  in  con- 
ception, perfectly  finished  in  the  modelling,  it  is  one 
of  the  most  charming  works  in  the  whole  Exposi- 
tion. The  expression  of  the  woman's  face,  as  well 
as  the  attitude  of  her  whole  body,  has  touched  and 
charmed  every  spectator,  Herr  Leo  Jussnitz,  the 
creator  of  this  work  of  art,  has,  as  it  is  said " 

Antje  had  all  at  once  caught  the  paper  from  the 
old  man's  hands,  and  read  on  :  "  has,  as  it  is  said, 
already  in  former  years  given  evidence  of  great 
talent  for  sculpture.     He  worked  for  a  whiel  in  the 

studio  of  Prof,  L in  Berlin,  but,  in  spite  of  the 

encouragement  of  his  celebrated  master,  turned  his 
attention  to  painting  until,  after  various  disappoint- 
ments, he  again  took  up  this  other  branch  of  his  art." 

Antje  let  the  paper  drop.  She  looked  at  Herr 
Kortmer,  but  the  old  man  shook  his  head  and 
turned  quickly  toward  the  door.  There  he  stopped 
for  a  moment,  took  off  his  spectacles  and  wiped 
them,  for  they  had  been  dimmed  by  a  few  unex- 
pected tears. 

"  Well,  then  I  suppose  it  will  be  so,"  he  said,  as 
he  left  the  room. 

Herr  Frey,  too,  soon  went  away  ;  he  would  not 
intrude  upon  this  happy  agitated  moment  in  the 
life  of  the  young  wife. 

Soon  after  Antje  finished  a  letter,  and  put  it  into 
the  post-bag  herself.  It  bore  the  address  of  the 
bronze-foundery  in  Westphalia.  Enclosed  was  a 
smaller  one  to  Herr  Leo  Jussnitz,  which  contained 
only  the  few  words  :  "  Come  to  us,  to  Antje  and  " 
— she  had  guided  the  little  one's  hand — "  Leonie." 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

Nearly  two  years  have  passed.  A  deep  blue 
summer  sky  spans  the  Harz  Mountains,  and  the  ail 
here  is  fresh  and  clear. 

The  iron-works,  "Gottessegen,"  have  changed 
somewhat ;  new  buildings  have  started  up  every- 
where from  among  the  green  trees,  and  the  work- 
men's houses  have  grown  into  quite  a  respectable 
village.  The  traveller  must  still  penetrate  to  this 
remote  region  by  carriage  or  on  foot,  for  the  rail- 
road runs  down  below  through  the  valley.  But 
many  strangers  come  up,  nevertheless,  through 
these  splendid  woods,  for  "  Gottessegen  "  has  grown 
to  be  quite  a  celebrated  spot  in  the  world. 

To-day  a  stately  man  has  descended  at  the  Ober- 
rode  inn,  "  The  Green  Pine-tree,"  which  boasts  such 
delicious  trout  as  are  not  to  be  found  far  and  wide  ; 
has  ordered  some  of  these  same  celebrated  fish,  and 
now  takes  occasion  to  inquire  of  the  landlady,  a 
stately  woman  in  her  fifties,  about  all  manner  of 
things  up  here.  He  has  a  rather  weary  expression 
in  his  face,  and  the  fair  hair  and  beard  are  already 
mingled  with  threads  of  silver. 

"  Do  you  mean  that  great  house  ?  That  is  the 
bronze-foundery ;  you  can  see  the  manor-house  as 
soon  as  you  get  to  that  open  space  ;  the  room  for 
copies  is  under  the  studio,  which  looks  out  on  the 


35S  Misjudged, 


garden.     What   did  you   say,  sir?    Ah,  yes,  that 

villa  up  there  on  the  mountain  ?  That  belongs  to  a 
partner  in  the  firm,  Herr  Ferdinand  Frey,  and  in 
the  Swiss  chalet  on  the  other  side  of  the  stream  the 
doctor's  family  lives." 

"  Indeed — the  doctor  ?    What  is  his  name  ?  " 

"  Maiberg,  sir ;  they  have  been  here  for  about  six 
months.  You  ought  to  have  been  here  yesterday, 
and  then  you  would  have  seen  everybody ;  old 
Kortmer  celebrated  his  fortieth  anniversary  at  the 
works.  It  was  a  great  festival,  and  every  one 
danced  at  it,  and  no  one  more  gayly  than  our  mis- 
tress, and  at  last  Herr  Kortmer  proposed  three 
cheers  for  her.  It  was  splendid,  I  assure  you.  You 
know  Frau  Jussnitz,  sir — or  don't  you  ?  Then  you 
can't  understand,  even  if  I  tell  you,  how  fond  she 
is  of  young  and  old  !  Ah,  she  is  a  mistress  worth 
having,  our  Frau  Jussnitz  !  " 

The  stranger  remained  seated  for  a  while,  ordered 
a  room  to  be  got  ready  for  him,  and  then  went  up 
to  the  great  house  and  asked  for  Herr  Leo  Jussnitz, 
He  was  in  his  studio,  and  the  stranger  was  taken 
there  at  once. 

The  study  was  a  handsome  room,  fitted  up  artis- 
tically, though  not  luxuriously  ;  everything  pointed 
to  a  distinct  aim — it  was  a  work-room.  The  young 
artist  was  standing  before  the  clay  model  of  a 
woman's  figure,  destined  for  a  monumental  foun- 
tain. He  no  longer  has  a  flippant,  soldierly  air  ;  his 
figure  is  rather  bent,  his  color  a  little  paler — the 
relic  of  his  illness ;  but  what  the  countenance  has 
lest  in  freshness  it  has  gained  in  depth  of  expres- 
sion. 


Misjudged.  555 


He  gazed  wonderingly  at  the  stranger  for  a  ma 
ment,  then  he  called  out  joyfully  : "  Upon  my  word, 
Barrenberg,  is  it  you  ?  Where — where  in  the  wide 
world  do  you  come  from  ?  " 

"  I  am  stationed  at  Fort  H ,  down  in  the  val- 
ley, and  I  would  not  miss  the  opportunity  of  seeing 
dn  old  friend,  and — well,  I  will  say  it,  for  it  is  no 
flattery — a  celebrated  and  greatly  admired  artist. 
I  congratulate  you,  Jussnitz;  you  have  made  a 
splendid  hit ! " 

The  two  men  shook  hands.  "How  are  you, 
Barrenberg?" 

"  Oh,  I  manage  to  drag  along,"  was  the  laughing 
reply.  But  Jussnitz  perceived  the  twitching  of  bis 
face  as  he  spoke.  "  Did  your  wife  come  with 
you  ?  "  he  inquired. 

Barrenberg  sank  heavily  into  a  chair  and  looked 
down  at  his  dusty  boots. 

"  If  you  mean  Irene  von  Erlach,  you  had  better 
ask  Signor  Colani  where  his  wife  is.  He  is  living 
with  her  in  Florence." 

Jussnitz  did  not  know  what  reply  to  make  to 
this. 

Suddenly  the  door  flew  open,  and  a  little  girl 
rushed  in,  her  hat  hanging  on  the  back  of  her  neck, 
and  her  soft,  gold,  shimmering  hair  floating  round 
her  head.  She  threw  her  arms  round  Jussnitz's 
neck  and  kissed  him. 

**  Papa,  papa !  Aunt  Maiberg  with  Fred  and 
Aunt  Frey  have  come,  and  Fred  keeps  trying  to 
walk,  and  he  can't,  and  he  always  falls  down.  It  is 
such  fun ! " 

jussnitz  smiled,  told  his  little  daughter  to  shak« 


360  Misjudged, 


hands  with  the  gentleman,  and  then  begged  him  to 
come  out  with  him. 

Joyous  voices  float  toward  them  from  the  ver- 
anda ;  on  the  gravel  walk  in  front  of  it  a  colored 
nurse  is  playing  with  a  dark-haired  child. 

The  mistress  of  the  house  has  recognized  the 
new-comer  at  once  ;  she  approaches  him  with  her 
calm,  sympathetic  manner.  He  looks  at  her  in 
amazement.  How  she  has  developed  in  the  warm 
rays  of  the  sun  of  happiness  which  now  shines  upon 
her  !  "What  a  good  and  beautiful  woman  !  "  thinks 
Barrenberg,  as  he  looks  into  her  deep,  shining  eyes, 
and  he  sits  down  beside  her  after  he  has  been  in- 
troduced to  the  others. 

His  eyes  wander  about  the  room.  That  little 
blonde  over  there  he  does  not  recognize  ;  it  is  Frau 
Frey.  But  that  beautiful,  slender  woman  in  a  white 
gown,  with  the  dreamy  dark  eyes,  is  the  little 
Spanish  dancer  of  former  days.  Hilda  is  winding 
yarn  which  an  old  woman  is  holding  for  her.  The 
latter  is  introduced  to  him  as  Frau  Polly  Berger, 
who  is  making  her  niece  a  visit. 

Presently  a  lively  conversation  is  in  progress. 
Antje  gives  an  account  of  yesterday's  festival ; 
Hilda  tells  them  of  her  life  in  Brazil.  "  I  cannot 
tell  you,"  she  says  in  conclusion,  "  how  happy  I  was 
when  I  felt  my  feet  once  more  on  German  soil.  It- 
was  such  a  good  idea  of  yours,  Antje,  to  appoint 
Wolf  to  be  your  doctor  here.** 

Thereupon  she  starts  up  and  runs  down  the  steps, 
catches  up  her  stout  little  Fred,  and  kisses  him  so 
violently  that  the  boy  screams.  She  has  to  indulge 
in  these  little  outbreaks  now  and  then,  or  she  could 


Misjudged.  j6l 


;At  endure  the  quiet.  Then  she  comes  back 
breathless,  and  sits  down  again  with  sparkling  eyes. 
''Such  a  good  idea,  Antje,"  she  repeats  once  more, 
looking  up  at  the  Swiss  chalet  which  is  her  home. 

"  All  my  wife's  ideas  are  good  ones,"  says  Leo 
pressing  Antje's  hand.  She  flushes  deeply  for  joy, 
and  plunges  into  a  conversation  with  Barrenberg. 
And  his  anxious  face  grows  calmer.  Yes,  Antje 
could  venture  to  offer  Hilda  a  home  here,  for  it  is 
evident  that  Leo's  heart  belongs  entirely  to  his 
wife. 

"  I  read  a  long  article  in  the  paper  about  your 
improvements  a  few  weeks  ago,"  says  Barrenberg  to 
the  young  wife.     "  May  I  see  them  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure,"  cries  Jussnitz ;  "  and  the  chief 
herself  will  do  you  the  honor  of  being  your  guide." 

She  laughs  and  promises. 

"I  call  it  absolutely  ideal,  where  art  and  tech* 
nical  construction  go  hand  in  hand,"  says  Barren- 
berg. 

That  evening,  Leo  accompanies  his  friend  back 
to  the  little  inn.  Barrenberg  has  declined  Antje's 
proffered  hospitality.  "  Not  out  of  shyness,  Juss- 
nitz," he  explains,  rather  hesitatingly,  "  but — I  am 
not  exactly  envious — I  am  sure  you  understand  me. 
Good-by,  Jussnitz  ;  you  have  won  a  great  prize. 
Your  wife  is  a  beautiful  woman  and  a  clever 
woman,  but  her  great  merit  is  not  in  being  capa- 
ble of  filling  such  a  position — her  great  charm  is 
her  goodness,  her  true  womanliness.  But  goodness, 
Jussnitz,  that  is  the  main  thing  !  Signora  Colani 
was  not  a  nonentity  by  any  means,  but — for  all  the 
goodness  of  heart  she  possessed — !     Ah *' 


3oa  Misjudged. 


He  presses  Leo's  hand  once  more,  and  then  tht> 
latter  goes  back  to  his  home. 

In  the  dark  garden  a  light  figure  comes  slowly 
toward  him.  He  puts  his  arm  round  her,  and  they 
walk  up  and  down. 

All  at  once  he  stops.  **  Barrenberg  is  right,"  he 
says,  stroking  her  cheek  ;  "  goodness  is  the  main 
thins^  Where  should  I  be  now  but  for  your  good- 
ness ?  " 

"  But  for  your  chain  I "  she  says  in  a  slightly 
mocking  tone,  throwing  her  arms  round  his  neck. 

"  Thank  God  I  "  he  says,  kissing  her  cheek— 
**  thank  God  that  there  are  such  chains  ! " 


The  New 
ti^  Alpine  Editioneiy& 

160  Titles 
Library  Style      Gilt  Top 


This  series  comprises  160  of  the  most  popular  and  standard  works  by  the 
world's  best  authors,  such  as:  Barrie,  Bunyan,  Hall  Caine,  Cooper,  Corelli, 
Curtis,  Dickens,  Doyle,  Dumas,  Eliot,  Hawthorne,  Henty,  Holmes,  Hugo, 
Irving,  Kipling,  Longfellow,  Poe,  Scott,  Sienkiewicz,  Thackeray,  Jules  Verne, 
Whittier,  and  embraces  every  department  of  science,  art,  literature,  philosophy, 
history  and  fiction.  They  are  printed  from  large,  new  clear  type  on  a  superior 
ciuality  of  laid  paper,  and  substantially  bound  in  Bedford  ribbed  silk  cloth. 
Title  stamped  on  back  in  genuine  gold  and  original  designs  stamped  on  the  sid« 
and  back  in  inks,  with  hand-burnished  gilt  top — Ubrary  style:  Size  5  x  7H. 


Price  75  Cents  Per  Volume. 

T.  S.  ARTHUR 

ROSA  N.  CAREY 

125 

T«n  Nights  in  a  Bar  Room 

81 

Mary  St.  John 

BALZAC 

90 

Not  Like  Other  Girls 

152 

Wild  Ass's  Skin 

147 
158 

Wee  Wifie 

Wooed  and  Married 

J.  M.  BARRIE 

RALPH  CONNOR 

149 

When  a  Man's  Single 

15 

Black  Rock 

153 

Window  in  Thrums 

J.  FENIMORE  COOPER 

R.  D.  BLACKMORE 

28 

Deerslayer,  The 

75 

Lorna  Doone 

72 

Last  of  the  Mohicans 

CHARLOTTE  BRONTE 

95 

Pathfinder,  The 

C5 

Jane  Eyre 

99 
101 

Pilot,  The 
Pioneers,  The 

BULWER-LYTTON 

105 

Prairie,  The 

4 

Alice 

120 

Spy,  The 

44 

Ernest  Maltravers 

138 

Two  Admirals 

71 

Last  Days  of  Pompeii 

146 
154 

Water  Witch 
Wing  and  Wing 

JOHN  BUNYAN 

MARIE  CORELLI 

57 
100 

Holy  War 
Pilgrim's  Progress 

7 
111 

Ardath 

Romance  of  Two  Worlds 

HALL  CAINK 

128 

Thelma 

17 

Bondman,  The 

142 

Vendetta 

27 

Deemster,  The 

160 

Wormwood 

MARIE  CALM 

MARIA  CUMMINS 

12 

Bella's  Blue  Book 

70 

Lampligiiter,  The 

— 1— 


THE  NEW  ALPINE  EDITION -Continued. 


GEO.  W.  CURTIS 

107  Prue  and  I 

CHARLES  DICKENS 

16  Bleak  House 

22  Child's  History  of  England 

23  Christmas  Stories 
26  David  Copperfield 
29  Dombey  and  Son 
51  Great  Expectations 
80  Martin  Chuzzlewit 
89  Nicholas  Nickleby 
91  Old  Curiosity  Shop 

93  Oliver  Twist 

94  Our  Mutual  Friend 
97  Pickwick  Papers 

122  Tale  of  Two  Cities 


150 


A.  CONAH  DOYLE 


White  Comijany,  A 

J.  H.  DRUMMOND 

34     Addresses 

88     Natural  Law  in  the  Spiritual 

World 

ALEXANDER  DUMAS 

24  Count  of  Monte  Cristo,  The 
37     Edmund  Dantes 

76     Louise  de  la  Valliere 
79     Man  in  the  Iron  Mask,  The 
119     Son  of  Porthos 
129    Three  Guardsmen,  The 
137     Twenty  Years  After 
145     Viscount  De  Bragelonne 

GEORGE  EBERS 
39     Egyptian  Princess,  An 
139     Uarda 

GEORGE  ELIOT 
1     Adam  Bede 

25  Daniel  Deronda 

45  Felix  Holt 

84  Middlemarch 

85  Mill  on  the  Floss 
112     Romola 

117     Silas  Marner 

JESSIE  FOTHERGILL 

46  First  Violin,  The 
GOLDSMITH  AND  JOHNSON 

143    Vicar  of  Wakefield,  and  Rasselas 

P.  G.  HAMERTON 
63     Intellectual  Life 

NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE 
114     Scarlet  Letter 

W.  HEIMBURG 

48     Gertrude's  Marriage 

86  Misjudged 

G.  A.  HENTY 

155  With  Lee  in  Virginia 

156  With  Wolfe  in  Canada 


113 


MARIETTA  HOLLY 

Samautha  at  Saratoga 


MARY  J.  HOLMES 

32  Dora  Deane 

41     English  Orphans 

59  Homestead  on  the  Hillside 

73  Lena  Rivers 
78     Mageie  Miller 

82     Meadowbrook  Farm 
123     Tempest  and  Sunshine 

OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES 

8  Autocrat  of  the  Breakfast  Table 

THOMAS  HUGHES 

132  Tom  Brown's  School  Days 

133  Tom  Brown  at  Oxford 

VICTOR  HUGO 
18    By  Order  of  the  King 

REV.  J,  H.  INGRAHAM 
98     Pillar  of  Fire 
106    Prince  of  the  House  of  David 
131     Throne  of  David 

WASHINGTON  IRVING 
3     Alhambra,  The 

68  Knickerbocker's  History  of  N.Y. 
118     Sketch  Book 

JEROME  K.  JEROME 

127     Three  Men  in  a  Boat 

CHARLES  KINGSLEY 

60  Hypatia 

RUDYARD  KIPLING 
11     Barrack  Room  Ballads 
H.  W.  LONGFELLOW 

74  Longfellow's  Poems 

SIR  JOHN  LUBBOCK 
102    Pleasures  of  Life 

EDNA  LYALL 

30  Donovan 

64  Hardy  Norseman,  A 

62  In  the  Golden  Days 

69  Knight  Errant 
148  We  Two 

167     Won  by  Waiting 

E.  MARLITT 
10     Bailiff's  Maid 
49     Gold  Elsie 
92    Old  Mam'selle's  Secret 

IK  MARVEL  (D.  G.  ICtchall) 

33  Dream  Life 

109    Reveries  of  a  Bachelor 

OWEN  MEREDITH 
77    Lucile 

MISCELLANEOUS 
2    Aesop's  Fables 

5  Andersen's  Fairy  Tales 

6  Arabian  Knight's  Entertain- 

ments 

9  Bacon's  Essays 

31  Don  Quixote — Cervantes 

40     Elizabeth    and    Her    German 
Gardener 


—2— 


THE  NEW  ALPINE  EDITION-Contlnxied. 


42 

Knglish  Woman's  Love  Letters 

HERBERT  SPENCER 

43 
60 

Epictetus,  Discourses  of 
Golden  Butterfly,  Besant  and 

38 

Education 

Rice 

ST.  PIERRE 

52 

53 

103 

Grimm's  Fairy  Tales 
Gulliver's  Travels 
Plutarch's  Lives 

96     Paul  and  Virginia 
ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

110 

Robinson    Crusoe — De  Foe 

135 

Treasure  Island 

121 

Swiss  Family  Robinson — Wyss 

] 

HARRIET  BEECHER  STOWE 

159 

Wood's  Natural  History 

140 

Uncle  Tom's  Cabin 

mSS  MULOCK 

BAYARD  TAYLOR 

66 

John  Halifax 

144 

Views  Afoot 

19 

FRANCIS  PARKMA5 
California  and  the  Oregon  Trail 

58 

JEREMY  TAYLOR 
Holy  Living 

EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 

ALFRED  TENNYSON 

104 

Poe's  Tales 

124              . 

Tennvson's  Poems 

115 

JANE  PORTER 
Scottish  Chiefs 

WM.  MAKEPEACE  THACKERAY 

126 

Thaddeus  of  Warsaw 

56 

Henry  Esmond 

R.  M.  ROCHE 

141 

Vanity  Fair 

21 

Children  of  the  Abbey 

JULES  VERNE 

SIR  WALTER  SCOTT 

47 

Floating  Island 

55 

Heart  of  Midlothian 

83 

Michael  Strogoflf 

64 

Ivanhoe 

87 

Mysterious  Island,  The 

67 

Kenilworth      , 

134 

Tour  of  the  World  in  80  Days 

ANNA  SEWALL 

136 

20,000  Leagues  Under  the  Sea 

14 

Black  Beauty 

JOHN  G.  WmiTIER 

HENRYK  SIENTf TEWICZ 

151 

Whittier's  Poems 

108 

Quo  Vadis. 

AUGUSTA  EVANS- WILSON 

SAMUEL  SMILES 

13 

Beulnh 

20 

Character 

61 

Inez 

35 
113 

Duty 
Self  Help 

MRS.  HENRY  WOOD 

130 

Thrift 

36 

East  Lynn 

••HARKAWAY"      SERIES 

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Biographies  of  Prominent 

^  ^  Border  Bandits 

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A  Final  Reckoning,  A  Tale  of 

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Boy  Knight,  The,  A  Tale  of 

the  Crusades 
Bonnie  Prince  Charlie,  A  Tale 

of  Fontenoy  and  Culloden  _ 
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of  the  Gold  Fields  of  Cali- 
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Tne  Days  of  King  Alfred 
13  Facing  Death.  A  Tale  of  the 

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Fall  of  Jerusalem 
17  In  Freedom's  Cause,  A  Story 

of  Wallace  and  Bruce 
i8  In  Times  of  Peril,  A  Tale  of 

India 
ig  In  the  Reign  of  Terror,  The 

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20  Jack  Archer.  A  Tale  of  The 

Crimea 

21  Lion  of  the  North,  A  Tale  of 

Gustavus  Adolphus  and  the 
Wars  of  Religion 

22  Lion  of  St.  Mark,  A  Tale  of 

Venice  in  the  I4th  Century 

23  Maori  and  Settler,  A  Tale  of 

the  New  Zealand  War 

24  Orange  and  Green,  A  Tale  of 

the  Boyne  and  the  Limerick 

25  One   of   the  28th,  A  Tale  of 

Waterloo 

26  Out  on  the  Pampas.  A  Tale  of 

South  America 

27  St.    George   for    England,    A 

Tale  of  Croissy  and  Poitiers 

28  Through  the  Fray.  A  Story  of 

the  Luddite  Riots 

29  True  to  the  Old  Flag,  A  Tale 

of  the  American  War  of  In- 
dependence 

30  Under  Drake's  Flag,  A  Tale 

of  the  Spanish  Main 

31  With  Clive  in   India,   or  the 

Beginning  of  an  Empire 

32  With  Lee  in  Virginia,  a  Story 
of  the  American  Civil  War 

33  With  Wolfe  in  Canada,  or  the 

Winning  of  a  Continent 

34  Young  Carthaginians,  a  Story 

of  the  Times  of  Hannibal 

35  Young  Buglers,  A  Tale  of  the 

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36  Young  Franc-Tireurs,  a  Tale 

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37  Young  Colonists 

38  Among  the  Malays 

39  Sturdy  and  Strong 

40  Young  Midshipman,  A  Tale  of 

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41  Golden  Canon 


M.  A.  DONOHUE  <&  CO.,  CHICAGO. 


■ 


THE  COMPLETE 

HOUSB  BUILDBR. 

With  Practical  Hints  on  Construction 


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A  few  months  or  a  year  may  so  change  the  aspect  of  one's  affairs  as  to 
render  It  possible  to  build.  It  is  therefore  well  for  all  to  anticipate 
the  realization  of  a  hone  and  become  familiar  with  the  reqaisites 
of  a  eood  bouse,  barn,  warehouse,  or  other  necessary  buildine. 
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THE  COMPLETE 

LETTER.  WRITER 

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Edited  by  CHARLES  WALTER  BROWIT 


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By  a.  A.  Henty 

260  Boy  Knight,  A 

271  Cornet  of  Horse 
280  Facing  Death 
285  Final  Beckoning 

295  In  Freedom's  Cause 

296  In  Times  of  Peril 
^  -  297  In  The  Reign  of  Terror 
(^299  Jack  Archer 

"^317  One  Of  The  28th 

318  Orange  and  Green 

319  Out  On  The  Pampas 
337  True  To  The  Old  Flag 
840  Under  Drake's  Flag 
848  With  Lee  In  Virginia 

By  J.  Feoimore  Cooper 

170  Last  Of  The  Mohicans.The 

178  Pathfinder,  The 

179  Pioneers,  The 

180  Prairie,  The 
187  Spy,  The 
254  Deerslayer 

By  Victor  Hugo 

38  By  Order  Of  The  King 

272  Cosette 
283  Fantine 
106  Hans  Of  Iceland 

37    Histonr  Of  a  Crime 
800    Jean  Valjean 


By  Victor  Hugo-Cont'd 
808    Marius 
88    Ninety-Three 

39  Notre  Dame  de  Paris 
831    St.  Denis 

40  Toilers  Of  The  Sea 

By  Emlie  Qaborlau 

284  File  No.  113— 

287  Gilded  Clique 

108  Lecoq,  The  Detective  ^ 

109  Lerouge  Case,  The  • 
812  Mystery  Of  Orcival 

By  Jules  Verne 

245    Michael  Strogoff 

219    Mysterious  Island 

189    Tour  Of  The  World  In  80 

Days 
121    Twenty  Thousand  Leagues 

Under  The  Sea 

By  H.  Rider  Haggard 

153  Allan  Quartermain 

223  Allan's  Wife 

160  Cleopatra 

100  Jess 

167  King  Solomon's  Mines 

112  Miawa's  Revenge 

244  Mr.  Meeson's  Will 

186  She 


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I  THE  YOUNG  AUCTIONEER, 
or  the  Polishing  of  a  Rolling  Stone 

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I  Adventures  of  a  Brewaie  as 
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S  Aunt  Diana.  Rosa  N.  Carey 

3  Averil.     Rosa  N.  Carey 

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Mulnellaad 

9  Girls  and  I  and  Girls  in  Black. 

Mrs.  Molesworth 
le  Girl  Neighbors.    Sarah  Tytler 
II  Grandmother     Dear.       Mrs. 

Molesworth 
13  Jackanapes,     Mrs.  Ewing 
tS  Lamplighter,  The.  Cummings 
f4  Margery    Mertoa's    Girlheed 

Alice  Corkran 
15  Meg's  Friend.    Alice  Cerkraa 
iS  Merle 'sCnisade.  ResaN. Carey 

17  fVaughty  Miss  Boany.    Clara 

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18  Our  Bessie.    Resa  N.  Carey 

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30  Polly,  A  New  Fashieaed  Girl 

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93  Six  M  <>ixteea.    Mrs,  Ewing 


S4  Six  Little  Princassea,  aadl 
What  They  Turned  iato.  By 
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2S  "Us."  An  Old-fashioasd 
Story-    Mrs.  Molesworth 

29  Very  Odd  Girl,  A.    Aanie  E. 

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30  World  of  GirU,   A.      L.    T. 

Meade 

31  Deb  and  the  Duchess.    L.T. 

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32  Wild  Kitty.    L.  T.  Meade 

33  Little  Susy  Stories,  seataln- 

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days. Little  Susy'*  S?x'  tach- 
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vants. Mrs.  Preatess,  Author 
of  Stepping  Heaveaward. 

34  Alice's  Adventures    in    Won- 

derland and  Through  the 
Looking  Glass.  Lewis  Carroll 

35  Good  Luck.    L.  T.  Meade 

36  Merry  Girls.    L.  T.  Meade 

37  Taming   a   Tomboy.      Eauly 

voB  Rhoden 

38  Youag  Mutineer.  L.T.  Meade 

39  Water  Babies.  Chas.  Kiaolsy 

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ERIC,  OR  Little  by  Litt' 
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JULIAN  HOME. 

A  Tale  of  College  Life. 

ST.  WINIFRED'S: 

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TOM    BROWN'S    SCHOOL 
DAYS  AT  OXFORD. 

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•These  stories  of  school  life  by  the  famous  author  of  the  "Life  of 
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Courtship  of  Miles  Standish 

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Evangeline... H.  W.  Longfellow 

Hiawatha H.  W.  Longfellow        10 

Lady  of  the  Lake.  .Walter  Scott 
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Lucile Owen  Meredith        i2 


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Princeof  the  House  of  David 
Rev.  J.  H.  Ingraham 

Rime  of  the  Ancient  Mariner 
Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge 

Tales  from  Shakespeare . . . 
Charles  and  Mary  Lamb 

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